


Poison

by GangstaCrow



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, I am cri, M/M, Self-Hatred, its because theyre only there to add a bit of realism, mainly angst tho, oh and if youre worderin why the sexy times are quick and shitty, this is just a cluster fuck tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GangstaCrow/pseuds/GangstaCrow
Summary: It’s a guy, that much is obvious. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt and a simple pair grey of sweatpants. They look good on him, but that in and of itself seems strange and familiar and painful all at once. He's never thought a guy looked good in anything.Well, except for…“Kyoutani?”Except for Yahaba.Or: Kyoutani didn't get to live with people that loved him because his mother is kind of a dick.





	1. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kentarou hates his mother.

It was much too hot, just as summer’s in the city have always been. When he was a kid, he’d never had a problem living here for any other reason than that. He hadn’t minded that the alleys next to his two bedroom apartment were littered with filth and breathy moans, because he was across the hall with his neighbor, whose afro was the size of a balloon and had a slight bounce to it when she walked.

His mother hadn’t allowed him to go there when she’d heard he’d accidentally called her ‘mommy’, because _she_ was the one paying the bills and feeding him. That was the first time she’d slapped him, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as what she was capable of now.

Later on, he’d figured out how to keep everything out of his mind. He’d ignored the sharp sounds of flesh being struck, having learned better than to ask any questions. When he’d seen men entering and exiting his mother’s room every other night, he’d learned to stop jokingly asking her if one was his father after the third black eye.

Hot summer nights were filled with him trying to flood his room with American raps songs that made his room vibrate enough to drown the sounds of his mother’s creaking bed and the fake gasps.

This had become routine, a night after his mother sent a John Doe out the house so she could sleep, her yelling at him to get some more beer. He would’ve said something about how he couldn’t understand her with all the whoring out she’d just done with her mouth, but he held his tongue. He’d stiffly opened the rickety door to his room, grabbing his keys and his wallet as he stepped over the trail of empty beer cans leading from the living room to his mother’s. He spared a glance at the poor excuse for a couch, it’s dull gray faded even more due to aging, though it's also due to the amount of smoke constantly seeping into its cushions. He can’t help but think about what he would’ve done had be been born somewhere else, somewhere with a nice house and a nice family and a nice neighborhood and a nice b-

He rips himself away from his thoughts as he turns to make his way to the door. He puts one foot in front of the other, past the kitchen that reeks of three week old takeout, past the dining room with a table covered with a mixture of empty condom boxes and dust until he reaches the door. He’d remembered to put his more presentable shoes in the closet next to the door, because he knows his mother doesn’t open it for fear of seeing what’s inside. If she doesn’t find them, she can’t pawn them off somewhere. He slips his feet into the red and white trainers he’s managed to keep clean for a good six months, and just as he has his black sweatshirt pulled over his head he hears her shrill voice.

“Don’t come back unless you’ve gotten me my drinks!”

He can feel the way his expression morphs into that of anger, feels how his eyes have narrowed more than they normally have. Rather than them being affected by his mother's coworkers when they unwind with a joint or three, they regain the rage of a wild animal because of her.

There’s not a person in the world he despises more than his mother.

  
Kyoutani Kentarou has slammed the door to the apartment, starting yet another dreadful trek to the liquor store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gangstacrowtwit) so you can scream at me. or with me. either one is fine tbh


	2. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kentarou goes to the store and finds a cat on the way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who edited this whole thing on google docs on their phone and proceeded to post it while still on their phone?
> 
> hold your applause

These trips have always been the same. He’ll walk down the three flights of stairs to leave his building, stepping over old soda cans and a rat or two. He'd become accustomed to dodging doors that bust open with men or women clawing at each other in rage. Most of these fights were either due to money, drugs, or relationships. Kentarou has to laugh at that. The people in this building knew little to nothing about what relationships were really about- hell, they thought two women spending time together meant they were lesbians that were cheating on their boyfriends. It was so ridiculous that he’d laughed when he’d heard it, but that had gotten one of his teeth knocked out. He stuck his tongue in the opening in the bottom row of his mouth where the moler used to be, felt that the area was still a little sensitive. He rubbed his tongue over it as he opened the door to the complex, remembered that the door needed a little extra tug since it always got stuck. He could feel that a small cut was still there, and that is was beginning to reopen. He stopped as he stepped outside. It was late, maybe about nine or ten. He could feel the breeze against his legs. He probably should've put pants on to go with his sweatshirt, but he didn’t even remember if the ones he had still fit. Turning to the left to head to his destination, Kentarou took a good look at his childhood home.

It was on the eastern-most edge of Sendai, which contrary to the rest of the city, was a real pile of shit. Japan was well put together for the most part, and areas like this were few and far between, but where they _did_ exist, the places never half assed anything. Crime against anyone not from here wasn’t too common, but it happened. A few muggings from unsuspecting tourists, a couple rapes or a murder in a bad year. Kentarou knew neighborhoods like his were avoided for the sole purpose of citizen and tourist safety, and he couldn’t blame them for steering clear. Crime here was higher than any of the other three underdeveloped hoods in Miyagi. He’d leave this place and never come back if he actually had somewhere to go, but he didn’t. All he had to his name was a room where he could barely fit a bed, paper thin walls, and a bag full of ice with his name on it.

He began walking down the cracked sidewalk, felt how his eyes were drawn to every little thing going on around him, keeping watch for someone that would _dare_ try to start something with him. A girl talking to a man in a car, batting her fake eyelashes and curving her lips in a smile. A man handing a hooded figure some money in exchange for a bag filled with a pure white substance. In the distance he could see the fluorescent lights of the strip club where his mother finds most of her John Does, how it was the only steady source of light here because the lampposts were busted and went out daily. Grey and white buildings where his mother's friends lived that had originally looked like those in the main city, but had lost their shine due to neglect and abuse. They’re nothing like the main city, where everything is pristine and proper and lively. He remembered taking the long route to school, envy coursing through his veins every time he’d walked past anything superior to his piss poor apartment.

Kentarou could feel himself becoming invisible with every step he took. Eyes that were trained on him when he first emerged discovered he wasn’t worth the attention and resumed what they were doing. How long had he been walking again? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Whatever, didn’t matter as long he knew where he was going and what he was getting. He can see the corner where the store resides, how he knows the way by heart due to many trips he'd taken here in the past. Normally they wouldn’t sell to anyone under 20, but his mom was friends with the owner, so they'd make an exception to sell to him when he was 14. He can see the John who'd left his house earlier trying to talk up some woman in a tight red dress. She doesn't seem to be into it, but she rolls her eyes and ushers him into an alley anyway. _Fuckin’ gross_. When he steps in front of the store, he realizes why they'd been out front instead of inside. The white lights are off, a simple sign hanging from the door that ruins his whole night.

Closed for the evening.

_Shit._ Going home empty handed was not an option, because he’d be sent right back out if there wasn’t a six pack in his arms. What the hell was he supposed to do now? There weren't many places that sold his mother’s preferred brand of booze. It was this, the shop in the next closest hood that was an hour and a half away, and…

Well, there was one in the center of Sendai. But he couldn't guarantee they'd let him buy it without and ID. He looked the part of a tired 20 year old, but that wasn't always enough for some people. He hoped for his sake that it'd be enough this time.

Kentarou walks past the woman stomping the man's head in with her stiletto-clad foot to get on the road to the main city.

* * *

When he walks down the streets that steadily connect his neighborhood to the main city, he can’t help but let his eyes be drawn to everything around him. Most of the sidewalk along the main road is immaculate, little to no cracks apart from the path leading back home. There were mostly parks around here, which is what made it easy for foreigners to get mugged when they came to visit and didn’t know the corners to avoid. He could see the trees that would be littered with cherry blossoms during the spring, how he'd arranged a certain meeting under them with-

He turned his gaze to road ahead, taking note of the girls waiting at the crosswalk. _Great, more people._ He tried not to draw any attention to himself when he walks up beside them- keyword being tried. He knew they'd stare at him and giggle and blush like idiots. He'd never believed the claim that girls liked bad boys because apparently they liked deadbeats better. One was nudging her long haired companion, motioning toward him as the girl blushed. Just as she made a move to walk over, the light changed. Kentarou had never walked across any street faster than he had in that moment, but it was worth it. He was finally there. The heart of Sendai. Everywhere he looked, he saw a true representation of what a city really was. Transactions between someone of questionable age and an unnamed face in a van were replaced with high school girls and college students laughing with one another. Drug trades were replaced with a girl handing out flyers and coupons outside of a cafe, who noticeably avoids looking at him to give a flyer to the other man who walks past them briefly. There are a few bars and nightclubs, but they’re more classy than the ones he’s been to. He remembered the jokes he’d heard at school about them, shitty pickup lines that people probably used to win others over. He wondered if that was what it was really like. He wondered if those lines would actually work on girls and guys. He wondered why he’d allowed himself to think that.

He took a left at a busy intersection to pass through an alleyway, stepping over trash bags that were thrown on the ground. He let out an irritated sigh. Even the _alleyways_ of the inner city were cleaner than out on the edge. There was a stray cat licking itself on the far end of the alleyway, and he crouched to pet it. It was almost as if it was the physical representation of the darkness of the hood when all the streetlights went out. He was almost invisible, and Kentarou wouldn’t have seen it had it been anywhere else with lights that weren't as bright and illuminating. It was wary of him at first, but the longer he’d stayed still, the more brave it became. It approached him, smelling his hand briefly before letting Kentarou run a hand over its back. It arched into his touch and he felt his lips twitch. He’d always wanted a pet. His mother never let him have a cat or dog, but the want was still there. But it wasn’t like she was paying as much attention to him _now_ , so…

Kentarou coerced the cat into his arms, cradling it snugly to his chest while it purred. His eyes caught something dark green around its neck. A collar. _Spoke too soon I guess_. He checked the tags for an address. It's not a boy- it's a girl. And her name is Kiki. She lives… it didn’t look too far from the store, so he could drop her off before heading back home. He stepped fully out of the alley, turning left to get to the store that wasn’t too bad for a place where drunks bought their fix. Granted it wasn’t a place where people would choose to spend their time, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as anything on the edge. He tucked the cat into his sweatshirt, but the little fucker just climbed into his hood, curling up like she lived there. He supposed it didn’t matter; she was dark enough not to be seen anyway.

The door jingled as he pushed it open. He can feel the rush of cold from the air conditioning as he walks down the isles, past the expensive French wines, past the imported Scotch, past the authentic saké. All the way in the back is what he's looking for. Pabst Blue Ribbon was a shitty American beer company based in Colorado, which probably explained why everyone in his hood loved it so much. They probably recognized the quality- shitty beer pairs best with shitty people. When he opens the fridge door, the bundle in his hood squirms and he pauses, sticking a finger up to scratch Kiki on the head.

He whispers quietly, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention to himself. “Calm down up there…”

The movement steadily slowed as the feline let out a satisfied purr, and Kentarou reached in, grabbing the beer and letting the fridge swing shut. He turned around, avoiding the looks given to him by the two or three other people in the store as he made his way to the cashier. He put on his best bitch face as he set the cans down, noticing how the twenty-something year old flinched at his expression.

The man swallowed nervously, though kept any indication of uneasiness out of his voice. “Just this?”

Kentarou nodded and dug out the wrinkled two thousand from his shorts, handing it to the man as he scanned the cans. He could be on his merry way and wouldn’t have to worry about-

_Mrrreeooow._

The man jolted slightly, the bill dropping onto the counter as he looked around. _Shit. Shit shit shiiiiit._ Kentarou kept his expression the same and remained as calm as he could, even as he felt a little bead of sweat rolling down his neck accompanied by a rough cat tongue. The man turned to look at him with confusion etched over his features.

“Did you hear that?”

Kentarou maintained his intimidating mask and feigned ignorance. “Hear what?”

“The uh… uh…” A quick rub to the chin and a sigh. “Nevermind. Have a nice night sir.”

After the man handed Kentarou his bag, he bolted out the store, immediately returning to the alleyway he'd first found Kiki. He put the bag on the ground, scooping the cat out of his hood. “What the hell was that? You almost gave us away!”

All he got as a response was a purr, whiskers tickling his hand as she rubbed her face against it. He let out a deep sigh. “I can't stay mad at that face. Guess I should get you home.”

She probably understood the word home, as Kiki starts squirming in his arms and pushing her head against his chest. He steps out of the alleyway, determination written on his features. _Alright, time to get this girl back home..._ Kentarou turned one of her tags over and turned to the right. The place shouldn’t be too far from here…

* * *

He’d made to it no more than two blocks before he realized where this cat lived. Students walking down the street, giggling with their friends. Coffee shops and restaurants on every other corner. The occasional dance club with girls and guys dressed to impress. This little fucker belonged to a college student- and not just any college student. _A well to do college student_. He knew what he looked like walking down the street- a thug, some sort of delinquent, and maybe that’s what he was. He didn’t have anything to his name. He didn’t have any skills. He was nothing compared to the proud sons and daughters who go to school and do what they’re told. He was nothing compared to how they were able to laugh with their friends and interact with the world around them. He was nothing compared to-

Well, anything. He wasn’t good enough to be compared to anything he could think of.

But the cat seemed right at home with him, felt how she relaxed when people weren’t looking at her. They probably couldn't see her with the way her fur blended in with his sweatshirt. Speaking of, she was trying to shove her head inside the front of it, and he couldn’t find it in himself to get her to stop. He settled for taking her collar off to look at the address, letting Kiki sit quietly in his pocket. Her owner lived in an apartment complex, and judging from where he was headed, it was nice. Probably had a doorman or something like that. _Damn these rich kids and their rich families who send them to fancy schools and fancy houses._

It was a good ten minutes before the building came into view. It wasn’t big, but it wasn’t anything to scoff at. They did indeed have a doorman, and Kentarou groaned miserably. He didn’t want to have to _talk_ to someone! He hated people! Well, most people, but he didn’t like to think about the exception. He felt shifting in his arms and looked down. Kiki was sticking her head out if his pocket as if to say _don't be a pussy dude, just walk in and take me home._

How could he argue with that?

Steeling himself, Kentarou grabbed the handle to the door opened the door quietly. It was cool in the lobby, a decorative lamp hanging from the ceiling that filled every inch of the room with light. The man behind the front desk- most likely the landlord- is dressed in a red polo with beige khakis. He takes one look at Kentarou before his face is that of barely disguised apprehension and confusion.

“Can I help you, sir?”

_Yeah, would you kindly fuck off._ “I found this cat and its tags said the owner lived here in 206. I was just returning it.”

The man's eyes roam up and down, taking him in. Kentarou knows what he looks like, but it never ceases to piss him off to see the way people look at him. He makes the best _I know I look like shit, but if you say something I'll kill you_ look he can muster while the examination continues. There's movement followed by a meow, which tells him that Kentarou’s story checks out. “Please wait a moment.” He left Kentarou standing at the desk and doesn’t bother hiding his contempt when he closes the door behind him in the back room. There’s the brief sound of button pressing followed by hushed voices, sounds of concern and distrust. Kentarou looks at the clock. 11:37. He supposes killing time doing this isn’t too bad.

The clock reaches 11:43 before the man strolls out of the back room, looking tight-lipped and radiating disapproval. “Second floor, door has 206 on it.”

Kentarou doesn’t grace the man with a response.

He steps into the elevator, thanking every otherworldly being there is that it's empty. There's the stereotypical monotonous music playing, and Kentarou gets tired of it quickly. A ding signals that he’s reached the second floor, and when the doors open, Kiki leaps out of his front pocket, stretching a bit before she trots down the hall. He follows after her, but takes a minute to look at everything. A painting of a beach. A vase of flowers. A pot with fern. It wasn’t much, but it made the hallway feel more elegant than it was- like the people who lived here actually cared about where they lived. He comes to a halt when he sees the cat sitting patiently in front of the door at the end of the hall. He doesn’t know whether to be glad that he’s gotten her home or disappointed she wasn't a stray he could take with him. He hadn’t even finished knocking twice before the door swings open.

“Were you the one who found my cat?”

It’s a guy, that much is obvious. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt and a simple pair grey of sweatpants. They look good on him, but that in and of itself seems strange and familiar and _painful_ all at once. He's _never_ thought a guy looked good in _anything._

 

Well, except for…

 

 

 

“Kyoutani?”

 

 

 

 

  
Except for Yahaba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is only gonna be like 5 or 6 chapters tbh
> 
> and i know this is short and feels rushed but that's kinda the point?


	3. Rekindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kentarou meets someone he hadn't thought he'd ever see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter from my phone? ay lmao
> 
> also i didn’t edit this so im gonna need to reread it until i find wtf is wrong with it sooooo
> 
> yEET

Nothing was said for some time after the door was opened. Just silence, each of them taking the other in with shock and sadness and disappointment and anger- or in Kentarou’s case, _fear._ Fear of the extent Yahaba's purity and kind disposition would reach. He knows Yahaba will take pity on Kentarou and ask him to come inside; that's just the kind of guy Yahaba is, he'd never turn his back on him. He isn’t going to deny that Yahaba scares him a little bit in that regard, that maybe he always had. But it's haunting him, the way Yahaba had said his name just then. His voice filled with so much emotion that it pained Kentarou to hear it. It was full of all the things he hasn’t had to experience since the last time he was around Yahaba, the last time he dared to allow himself to think of him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… I... uh…”

Yahaba’s looking at him and waiting for Kentarou to say something, _anything_ , but the words won't come out. They keep staring at each other, trying to figure out what has changed over the years. Yahaba hasn’t gotten anything short of beautiful (objectively speaking, because it's really just a fact that Yahaba looks amazing). He wasn’t sultry or raunchy like the women his mother worked with, but he held every attractive feature that they possessed. Or maybe that was just him being delusional, letting his emotions cloud his thoughts. Kentarou’s eyes trace over the smooth skin of Yahaba’s face, every dip and curve as he follows each and every line. He commits every freckle and small imperfection to memory, because these are few and he doesn’t want to forget that they exist. He admires the way his hair has gotten longer but hasn't quite gotten past the very edge of his cheeks, how it complements everything about him. His shirt was loose, and Yahaba seems to have lost a bit of the muscle he'd had in highschool, but his arms aren’t scrawny or anything like that. He could see how toned they were, how they weren’t bulging or beefy but were strong enough to do a bit of heavy lifting here and there. His sweatpants were baggy and looked like something Kentarou himself would wear if he could afford to buy a new pair. But no matter how many times his attention wavered, Kentarou’s eyes always found their way back to Yahaba’s. They’re speaking to him, asking him questions he doesn’t know how to answer because he was never good with formulating his thoughts into words that Yahaba would understand. He stands there feeling like a fool, holding a cat collar numbly in his hand as Kiki worms her way in the apartment.

“Kyoutani? Are you okay?”

“...uh…I…”

He wants to say goodbye, wants to leave Yahaba behind. He doesn’t want him to fall any deeper down this rabbit hole.

But he doesn’t move.

The elevator dings down the hall, but neither of them dares look toward it. It’s only when someone clears their throat behind him does Kentarou finally tear his gaze away.

The landlord is there again, his obvious superiority-complex taking form when he tries to look down at him. It's difficult considering Kentarou is taller than him- and so is Yahaba for that matter. The man is looking between the two of them, eyeing Kentarou cautiously when he speaks. “Is there a problem?”

Kentarou knows he should go home. Knows he _has_ to or he won't be able to leave without it hurting more than broken noses and black eyes. “No, I was just le-”

One look into those eyes tells him to stop. It honestly wasn’t fair how easily they could trap him like this. He was forced pliant with the millions of things they were saying without words.

“Actually, everything's fine. He's an old friend that's visiting for the first time in… a while.” Yahaba’s voice is a lot quieter than he remembered. It was as sure and authoritative as it usually was, but his volume was lower. He kept his eyes locked with Kentarou, like he'd run if he looked away for even a second (he would, but that was beside the point).

The man wasn’t convinced and he crossed his arms, directing his attention to Yahaba. “An old friend, huh?”

Yahaba’s pulling him inside by the sleeve of his sweatshirt as he talks. “Yes, an old friend.” His hand brushes against Kentarou’s, and he feels how it’s a bit cold.

He's inside now, his shoulder brushing against the doorway. Yahaba briefly locks eyes with him before closing the door, stepping out to talk to the indignant man outside. Kentarou is left alone in the place Yahaba calls home. He’s only in the entryway and he already felt out of place. The decor was just... Yahaba. Yahaba everywhere. The numerous potted plants he could see from where he stood, the stylish couch, the painting on the wall that made him woozy due to its familiarity. He could hear the hurried whispers outside. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now; the only thing he could think of as he hesitantly toed his shoes off was to push them to the side and inch towards the cat tower next to the couch. Kiki was curled up inside the second tier, lazily flicking her tail around as she eyed Kentarou. She was mesmerizing, drawing attention in a way Kentarou couldn’t describe. It was like she was trying to read him from the way she was looking at him, deciphering everything there was to know about him. He reached a hand in to pet her, but withdrew it immediately when she started hissing.

So even the cat knew this wasn't a time for games.

He was in the living room now, so he sat on the couch. Kentarou inspects everything in the room. It was a nice place, and there was a 99% chance that it was expensive as hell and he couldn’t dream of buying anything even remotely related to the items held here. Beige wallpaper that complemented maroon furniture, a relatively large tv inside of a black entertainment set, black bar stools in front of a breakfast bar, dark oak coffee table with a matching dining set in the next room. A touch of western style to it, but that was to be expected of a family of Yahaba’s caliber. Kentarou didn’t know _exactly_ what they did, but he knew they were one of the larger-scale business companies.

 _I don’t belong here_.

He shouldn’t have let himself get pulled in. He stands to make his way out, but his head snap towards the door when he hears Yahaba shutting it. He freezes.

Yahaba takes one look at him before he can see realization spread over his features. “Are you leaving? You just got here.”

Kentarou hopes he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. “I gotta get home”

Yahaba crosses the room and Kentarou gets a good look at him. He's gotten taller and now he’s about the same height as Yahaba, but it still irritates him that Yahaba's hair makes him seem taller than he is. “Home. We haven't seen each other in _two years_ and you want to go home, the place you can go anytime you want?”

Kentarou frowns as his eyes follow Yahaba’s movements. This isn’t how he wanted this to go, but Yahaba always knew how to make him mad in less than a second. “Yeah, I wanna go home, the place I need to go because I have shit to do.”

He scoffs as that. “You've spent enough time at home don't you think _Kyoutani-kun_? I think you can spare a minute or two with me.” He’s doing the thing where he puts his hand on his hip, acting like he _knows_ he's right and that everything will definitely be going his way. Like he knows Kentarou’s going to end up listening to him no matter how stubborn he is.

Kentarou clenches his jaw, Yahaba stepping in front of him to get in his personal space. It’s what they'd always done, getting in each other's faces and shouting so much that their lungs burn and their throats get sore, but this time is different. More potent. It was full of everything they never had the chance to say, full of everything that they'd held in for so long. “Don’t start something you can’t finish _Yahaba-san_.” The words leave his mouth as a deep bark, like he's some kind of rabid dog, and maybe that’s what he is.

But that just makes him angrier, and Yahaba doesn’t back down- he never had, so starting now would be ludicrous. “Why do this then? Why did you come all the way up here? You could've just handed my cat to Tsukasa and-”

That pisses him off. He doesn't know why, but it does. “Oh I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to deprive you of an excuse to get your landlord to shove it up your ass!”

“E-Excuse me?” As much as Yahaba knew how to push Kentarou’s buttons, he knew how to push his too. And that little dig hurt, saw it in the way his face burned and his brows furrowed as if to ask _why, why would you say that_?

It takes less than a second for the mortification to morph into fury. “Well I'm sorry that you're so jealous of my social life that you have to come up with some half-assed story to make yourself feel better!”

He growls- he really does, and he'll admit it to anyone- but he doesn’t bother trying to come up with something else to say.

He was done with this. It hadn’t changed anything. It was a waste. “I don't have time for this shit! Talkin' to you just pisses me off!”

Yahaba doesn’t let him leave though, his persistence still as strong as ever. Kentarou hasn't even stepped around him before he's in face again. He's giving him a wry smile, which closely resembles a certain someone when they get mad. “So you're just gonna leave again, is that it?!” He’s got a finger digging into Kentarou’s chest, like it'll magically transform into a knife if he pushes hard enough. Kentarou shoots his hands out to grab it, but yanking it down makes Yahaba lean closer, trying to force him to listen to every word coming out of his mouth. “You can't keep running away Kentarou!”

Kentarou felt everything inside him seize up. That was wrong and it pained him to hear it, but Yahaba already knew that- that was the whole reason he'd said it. How was he supposed to respond? The obvious choice was to make him feel the same, wasn’t it? Because that's what he wanted to do. Wanted to make Yahaba hurt as much as he did.

“You weren’t sayin’ that last time were you?!” He hadn’t even finished what he was going to say when he say the flash of betrayal in Yahaba’s eyes. _Good._

“When I walked away, nobody gave a fuck, not even you!” That made him take a step back, but Kentarou followed him. _He_ was the one mad, not Yahaba. _He_ was the one who was left alone, because Yahaba had a multitude of friends who would always come looking for him.

“Was I really running away if nobody was chasing me, _Shigeru?!_ Because it sure as hell didn’t seem like it to me!”

That little speech had shut Yahaba up, made him drop the scorn and despondency, caused his shoulders to droop and eyes to water. This is what their relationship was built on; harsh words and sharp remarks that they'd make up for later.

Kentarou wasn’t so sure that they'd be able to make up after this one.

There wasn’t anymore shouting, just his own heavy breathing, Yahaba’s barely hidden shaking, and suffocating stillness. Because now that everything was out in the open, what was there to say? They knew what'd happened, they knew both of them were still angry about it, they knew that Yahaba had spent all of this time blaming himself. They knew Kentarou was right, that he wasn't running if nobody cared enough to come after him to drag him back kicking and screaming, that he wasn't the only one to blame. Because if someone disappears, is it their fault, or are the people not looking the ones to blame?

But no matter how much they knew, it wouldn’t really change anything, would it? Kentarou knew that making an effort to see Yahaba wouldn’t have done anything to make their lives better, that he wouldn’t have been anything except a hindrance. Yahaba’s family would’ve hated them. Kentarou’s mother would’ve hated them. But Yahaba would eventually grow to hate him too. Talking- more like yelling, actually- had told him he'd done all of that already. All seeing Yahaba had done was make him reaffirm his suspicions that yes, he'd made the right choice to let him go so he wouldn’t have to deal with this. That they couldn’t be in a room without fighting, that this wasn't how a healthy relationship should be.

But really, what did he know about that?

After a period of time that Kentarou doesn’t bother trying to guess, he decides he’s overstayed his welcome. He sidesteps Yahaba, hand brushing against the arm of the couch, the suede texture distracting him for a second before he continues. He doesn’t bother looking at the cat tower- he can feel the gaze on his back as he makes it to the entryway.

A glance at the bag with his mother’s beer, which now that he thinks about it, is the whole reason he's in this situation in the first place. He sits down to put his shoes on. Too much force could tear out the bottom if he wasn’t careful. He doesn’t hear the shuffling of feet behind him, doesn’t hear the weight slumping to the floor. But he _can_ hear the sniffling and that's enough to keep him looking forward. _Don't turn around. Don't turn around._ A hand pulling on the back of his sweatshirt halts him before he finishes putting his left shoe on.

_Don't turn around. Don't-_

“I’m chasing you now idiot.” Yahaba’s choked up and his voice cracks halfway through the sentence. He feels the way Yahaba’s trying not to burst out crying with the way he leans against his back, how he's getting the nape of his neck wet with the tears he can’t manage to hold in.

_Fuck._

It wasn't fair how much he cared. It really wasn't. Yahaba could rob him blind and Kentarou would still turn around for him.

Kentarou couldn’t tell when he'd slipped his right shoe back off, or when he'd slowly turned his body to let Yahaba slide onto his chest. He couldn't tell when he'd folded his legs beneath him, pulling Yahaba into his lap so they didn't have to try quite so hard to reach each other. He couldn't tell when Yahaba had curled his arms around him and started bawling. He couldn’t tell how long they'd stayed in front of that door, surrounded by shoes and cat toys, because he was more worried about how Yahaba had leaned all his weight against him so suddenly that he barely had time to think.

“You dick-”

They hit the floor with a thump, Kentarou barely avoiding hitting his head on the door and knocking himself out. There was no real heat to it, not like there had been before. Instead of speaking between his snorts and huffs, Yahaba just sticks a hand up his shirt, letting it rest above his heart. Kentarou knows it’s beating a mile a minute, and that’s probably why Yahaba keeps it there. His hand was cold, but he didn’t make a move to stop him. He knew what he probably looked like: some whipped little bitch who could get played with a simple wave of the hand.

He didn’t care. Because he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted. That was all that mattered to him.

Why then, had it taken two years for someone to finally let him know they cared?

 

* * *

 

_His hands are sweating. No matter how much he clenches and unclenches them he cannot, for the life of him, calm down_

 

**_Flash_ **

 

_He walks away. Shigeru doesn't follow him._

 

**_Flash_ **

 

 _“Look, I already told you Kentarou, nobody came to see you. So don't you_ _dare_ _raise your voice to me again, **ever**.”_

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to the smell of burnt toast. It didn’t smell completely singed or anything like that, but it was still noticeable. Kentarou opens his eyes and rubs his face so everything isn’t bleary. He's still in front of the door, but there's a pillow under his head and a thin blanket thrown over him that hadn’t been there when he drifted off. It's a bit brighter now because it's morning, and Yahaba has the curtains in the living room drawn back to let the light in. Something's touching his side, and he doesn’t get to look down before Kiki’s jumped on his stomach and is meowing her little heart out trying to get him up. He reaches over to scratch under her chin, but as he sits up, she quickly scurries out of his reach. She's trying to get him to follow, but he woke up like thirty seconds ago and doesn’t have the energy to want to hurry. So he takes his time when he stands up on wobbly legs, making sure to grab the pillow and blanket as and groggily made his way back to the couch. He doesn’t bother folding it, just drops it. Yahaba’s making a lot of noise for someone trying to make toast and- what is he even doing in there? He stretches his back until he hears a satisfying pop, rolling his shoulders and neck a few times before turning his head toward the breakfast bar.

“The hell are you doing?”

Yahaba turns his head to look at him and he's so irritated Kentarou almost smiles. “What does is _look_ like I'm doing?”

“Trying to burn toast.”

“You know-”

An obnoxious pop song interrupts Yahaba, but he just waves a hand, returning his focus to keeping their food from getting scorched. “Could you get that?”

Kentarou sits on a bar stool and picks up the phone from where it's resting on the counter. Unsurprisingly, it’s a rose gold iPhone 7, and in typical rich-kid fashion it lacks any sort of case or protective covering, which is nothing less than infuriating. One look at the contact name makes his brows furrow in confusion. “Who the hell is ‘Side Hoe 76’?”

Yahaba’s voice is a bit muffled since he’s stuck his head into the fridge, mostly likely to get some eggs to put on some rice since the toast was a bust. “That’s just Watari. He’s probably wondering where I am, so could you text him that I'm going to be late today?”

Kentarou doesn’t question his reasoning behind the name and simply does what he's told. He’s good at that. He's also good at snooping. _Well, I already have it, so I may as well…_ Kentarou goes into Yahaba’s settings to see what he's got going on. His geotag is still active, so he takes the liberty of turning it off to save him from any future kidnappers trying to plug his coordinates into Google Earth or some shit like that. He thinks that's how a girl was taken in Nagasaki, but he wasn’t sure if it was true or not. He has his clock set to standard instead of 24 hour, so Kentarou changes it just to fuck with him. But he’s a bit taken aback when he discovers the only fingerprints in Yahaba’s phone are from his left and right thumb. Kentarou flicks his eyes up. Yahaba’s settled for rice with fried egg on it. He has a bit of time left.

By the time Yahaba’s done making breakfast, Kentarou has added his two thumbprints, changed the ringtone to some random rap song, and fucked up the lock and home screen on Yahaba’s phone. He’s still trying to figure out how he came up with the nicknames for some of the people he knows (because who the fuck is Butthole Tickler-san and why are they one of the people he texts the most?) when he's pulled by the back of his shirt to follow. Yahaba sets the tray on the coffee table and Kentarou opens his mouth to ask a stupid question like ‘why aren't we at the table, it’s not like we fucked on it’ when he speaks.

“We're gonna have to talk about this Kyoutani.”

They were back to this, were they? He'd hoped Yahaba would've forgotten overnight, because he _really_ didn't want to talk about it; it was hard enough thinking about what he'd done without having to voice his motivation. He didn’t understand why he suddenly decided to give a fuck all of a sudden, because Yahaba-

He couldn’t really use that excuse anymore though. Yahaba still cared, even after months and months of the two of them never speaking a word or making an effort to see each other.

“Do we have to?”

Yahaba gives him the look **™** and Kentarou sighs. At least he tried. He picks up his bowl of rice, his knee knocking against Yahaba’s. They eat quietly, the only sound being from the tv and an occasional ‘this would've been good with toast if you hadn't fucked it up so hard’. There’s some cartoon playing about some guy trying to be the number one hero even though he doesn’t have powers, and Yahaba’s so entranced he decides now is a good time.

“I gotta get to work.”

Neither of them move, so he thinks Yahaba hadn’t heard him. But when he stands to put his empty bowl in the sink, Yahaba slips his hand into his. Kentarou tries to look at his face, but Yahaba’s staring into his half empty bowl of rice like the little bit of fried egg still in it is the most interesting thing in the world.

“You uh, you okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just kept his hand were it was. Kentarou was freaking the fuck out. They lapse into silence again, and Kiki’s rubbing her face against his leg again. It's a welcome distraction.

“Do you have a phone?” Yahaba’s voice is unsure, as it should be.

Kentarou did own a phone though- it was an old Samsung Galaxy S3 he'd found under a bench in one of the parks leading back home. He dug up an old Android charger from his neighbor's trash and he was good to go. The phone had a large crack diagonally across it and it didn't have service, but he'd deleted all its data and input his own settings. He'd downloaded Skype, but he couldn't afford his own number, so all he could do is text. But he didn’t have friends, so the only person in there was Ryoko, the woman he worked with most of the time.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have service, so all I can use is Skype. I don't have a num-”

“That’s fine. Just… just tell me your username.”

He does, and Yahaba gets his bag from the fridge (he hadn’t even noticed it was gone). They walk to the door, and the cat’s staring at them from her spot on the floor, waiting for something- anything to happen. Kentarou is pulling his shoes on and reaching for the door when he sees them.

The tears.

Yahaba’s crying again. What the shit. He hadn’t even done anything.

“Y-You’re actually come back, right?”

Oh _._

Kentarou rolls his eyes as he pulls the door open. “Not if you're gonna make that face- you know you're an ugly crier, right?”

Yahaba’s hitting his arm as he steps out the door. “I was being serious you dumb asshole!”

\---

Kentarou steps into the lobby and sees the landlord frowning at him.

He flips him off as he leaves the building.

 

* * *

 

Kentarou enters his apartment with his shoes on, ignoring the crashes coming from next door.

  
The beer is in the fridge, his mother has barricaded herself in her room, and he leaves the house at 10:43 in the morning to go to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's gonna be hella time skips because im lazy and need to mak this move fast. its like Macbeth, gotta get straight to the death and angst by makin shit move quick amirite?
> 
>  
> 
> next chapter: Kentarou talks to a friend, Yahaba finally gets the explanation he deserves, and Kiki pees in the hallway.


	4. Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kentarou and Yahaba have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i didn't edit this, but tell me if you think it's shit because that makes me want to work harder (im kidding plz praise me plz)  
> 2\. the next chapter will be up on friday  
> 3\. im starting to think i don't know what im doing

“How have been things going with your little friend?”

She says it as she stands completely still, perfectly balanced on her five-inch black stilettos. She applies scarlet lipstick to her pursed lips, her makeup scattered on the table next to her body mirror. Even in the dim light of the dressing area her curves were perfectly accentuated, her smooth legs and soft stomach leaving just enough to the imagination to keep customers coming back for more. Her blond hair had a slight curl to it tonight, stopping short of her breasts. A tattoo of a monarch butterfly was hidden underneath the lacy lingerie, the tips of the wings peeking above the trim on the edge of her hip. The mindless chatter and jaudy shouts of the main entertainment area were muffled. In the confines of this curtain-clad box, they were granted as much privacy as they were allowed.

Kentarou was skillfully adjusting the violet fabric, careful not to poke her as he tightened and trimmed as was needed. She was taller than he was used to working with while she was in her heels, and he'd asked her to take them off, but she refused. Wanted to work on her balance as long as she could before she had to act, she'd said. It was a pain that made this process take longer than it should- finalizing the rose pattern and securing the trim of her underwear should've taken no more than thirty minutes if she'd let him work like he was accustomed to, but her insistence had put a dent in his time.

They were at one hour now. They were late.

His hands were too big and rough to work fast, so even though he knew his pay would be deducted, he couldn’t rush. Detail took time, and messing up would ruin work that had been finished the previous night. Thirty minutes was a luxury that he'd had time to get used to- running over it was not an option anymore.

Unless she took it upon herself to be late and not listen to the request of the only person who was willing to help. Then it was her fault.

But she was the star, so _he_ would be punished instead.

He breathes softly, worrying his movements would cause him to make a mistake that would cost him more time. “It’s alright I guess. Things are still kinda tense though.” He pulls a thread near thigh, frowning when he finds it's shorter than he anticipated. “Shit…” He does his best to tie it with what's available, but thick fingers weren’t the best at delicate work like this, so if he wasn’t careful-

_Snap!_

“God fucking dammit!” He growls, hastily grabbing more thread to hurry. Starting again at a time like this was _not_ good, not good at all.

A hum from as she applies a bit of eyeliner. He takes a moment to glance at the gifts next to her chair. _The beautiful Violet._ Ryoko Katsura. Stage name Violet, befitting of her unusual eye color. A birth defect she'd said. He doesn't believe her; he thinks they're contacts. “How long have you been talking again? Two weeks? Three?”

Kentarou works quicker this time, not bothering to go the extra mile to avoid pricking the woman. “Three, about to be four.” He accidentally nicks her and Ryoko pinches his ear in warning. He thinks of Yahaba. They'd been talking for the most part, Yahaba complaining about his professor's and whatever else bugs him during the day. Yahaba had tried to arrange a few meet ups, but Kentarou was able to avoid all of them with the excuse of work. It was getting old fast though, because Yahaba was pressing on about the fact that they still haven't had a proper discussion yet. A one night screaming match wasn’t going to fix everything, and they'd gotten into numerous arguments over text about it before one of them changed the subject, but it'd be brought up the next day and the cycle would repeat.

Kentarou pulls the thread, satisfied when there's enough to successfully tie a knot without breaking it. Ryoko brushes on a bit of blush. “So what's the problem? Seems like you two should be doing just fine if you managed to survive this long after meeting up again.”

He rolls his eyes at that. What did she know? She’d never had to deal with this shit. “All he wants to do is talk about shit that happened when I left, but I don’t wanna deal with that.” He really didn't. He didn’t even want to _think_ about it, so he focused on standing up so he could add support to the decorations on her bra. _Who put all these extra beads and sequins here anyway?_ I _sure as hell didn't._

Ryoko set her compact down, opening the lid of some silver body glitter. She was giving Kentarou her ‘I seriously want to strangle you for how complicated you make things for no reason’ face. “Seems like you need to. Did you really expect to be able to start fresh and get a do-over?” She was getting glitter everywhere- intentional or not, it was annoying. She kept her eyes on the mirror, not caring when she brushed too much on her neck and it fell onto him.

She had a point though. He was an idiot for thinking things would be 100 just because they screamed at each other for a while.

A final snip to a loose thread and Kentarou takes a step back. Ryoko was done applying makeup and her ‘costume’ was finally done after an hour and a half of Kentarou slaving away with cheap thread and a dull needle. He tries to find a way to ask what he wants without sounding desperate. “I just… what am I supposed to _say_?”

This has the opposite effect, his voice strained at the last word, making Ryoko pause in her haste to make it on stage. But she doesn’t laugh or mock him like she normally would, she just turns to look at him. For the first time since meeting her, Kentarou _sees_ Ryoko.

A woman who was beaten down by expectations and chose to leave a life of mindless pampering based on her family for one where she's valued on her merit. A woman who turned to _him_ for help when she needed a purpose, a reason to keep going when she didn't belong anywhere. A woman that doesn't look at him like he was a pest or a druggie or a depraved pervert. A woman that cradles his head and keeps him conscious to prevent him from falling into darkness. A woman who's always been there to keep his secrets, and in return only asks for friendship.

He sees the sister he never had.

There’s movement just outside, but he’s more focused on the smile that gets sent his way, full love and so many other things that makes him unsure of how to react other than shiver and blush because she's just so… so _amazing_ sometimes. “Just tell him the truth Kentarou. It’s what he wants.”

She pecks his cheek and sashays her way out of the curtained box.

He hears the roars of approval as he exits the building through the back door, heading in the direction of his apartment.

It’s eight but the streets are still empty. The sun has only just set and the neighborhood doesn't come to life for a little while longer, people who roam the streets inside clubs or liquor stores or finalizing business at their hideouts. There are empty cans and cigarette butts on the sidewalk, used condoms thrown in alleys next to trash bags that haven't been touched for months.

It's hot again today. Nats keep flying into his face.

He speeds up when he passes an old gym, barking and growling echoing throughout the street. A high pitched whine threatens to make his eyes flood.

There’s a used car for sale across the street. Some guy in a puffer vest is siphoning its gas, and they make eye contact. Kentarou tips his head in acknowledgment, and the other does the same.

The old bolts on the door to the complex have finally given way, the empty frame tossed next to the building. Whoever moved it didn't bother sweeping away the broken glass, but he doesn't particularly care. He ignores the crunching under his feet as he climbs the three flights of stairs.

A drunkard flings open his door with enough speed and force to make Kentarou's knee burn. The glare he sends doesn't do much other than rile the man up.

“You got somethin’ to say runt?” He smells of Pabst Blue Ribbon and low quality weed. Kentarou debates retaliating with a punch or a witty remark, but he can't bring himself to do either.

He's finding it a lot harder to want to fight these days. He blames Yahaba.

He settles for harshly shouldering past the man, listening to how he stumbles into the doorframe with a thud, feeling the icy glare on his neck. A sense of foreboding and deja vu washes over him. He's been here before, in this exact situation.

But all that happens is the slam of a door. He lets out a shaky breath. The man was probably going to complain to Kentarou's mother. He tries not to pay attention to the shiver that runs up his spine at the thought, because he can't help but _want_ his mother to do something. Maybe then he'd get his motivation for fighting, find the strength to knock her down a few pegs.

The thought dies before reaching an sort of semblance of hope. He wouldn't _couldn't_ do something like that to her.

When he makes it inside the door to the apartment, he doesn't make a beeline for his room as per usual. This time, he takes a minute to _really_ look at his home. A step into the dining room, the floor still grungy under his feet despite him still wearing his shoes.

It's shit.

It smells like shit, looks like shit, everything about it is shit.

He thinks of Yahaba’s place. It smelled nice. _Probably ‘cause of all the fuckin plants._ Maybe if he asked, he’d give him something to help air out this pisshole. Like a ficus or something to help the air or whatever- he didn't know, plants just did stuff like that.

Or maybe he was just being an idiot. The fumes from the trash are probably getting to his head. He takes it upon himself to clear out the dining room. He grabs a trash bag from under the sink, and while gagging and trying not to pass out, he stuffs countless take out containers and leftovers into the black bag. He'd gotten everything into a single bag that he tied tightly when he stops. The smell isn't as strong now that it's enclosed inside, but it hadn’t done much. The house was still shitty, the kitchen was covered in dust, and the walls were still barren save for a few suspicious wet spots.

He gives up.

His mother's going to be home later. He knows this and he’d already gotten everything ready before he left for work this morning, but when he opens the door to his room, he realizes his two year old speakers are missing from their usual place on the floor next to his mattress.

 

Which means he doesn't have anything to drown out the sounds from the next room.

Which means he has to get to sleep _now_ so he isn't awake to suffer.

Kentarou lifts the thin blanket on his mattress to see a lump that shouldn't be there.

A lump that's _moving_.

A lump that's _meowing_.

A lump that he recognizes as _Yahaba’s cat_.

“Kiki you sneaky fuck.”

She's curled up on his pillow, not caring that she's dropping loose hairs on it that will most definitely get in his eyes when he lays down. He tries to figure out how in the hell she got in here. Not the window, it’s always locked, not the front door because there’s no way his mother would ever allow a cat or dog or any other animal in her house. There’s no other way she could’ve gotten in, but he just doesn’t know how she got here.

She’s staring at him. Those eyes are strangely human and they’re asking him a question.

_What are you going to do now?_

What _is_ he going to do now?

He doesn't have speakers. He has a cat that doesn't belong here. He doesn't have anywhere else to _go_ if he wants to sleep or take care of a cat that isn't really his-

Except now he does, because he’s been given an excuse to go back.

He pulls out his phone.

**7 July 2016: 20:56**

**kyou_k: can i come over**

**7 July 2016: 20:57**

**yahaba_shigeru: you didn’t have to ask**

 

* * *

 

The fluorescent lighting gives him a headache, and the crimson wallpaper isn't making things any better. He's taken to staring at the floor, the beige tiles giving him a break from the bright hallway. He’s already knocked five times but he’s still waiting outside Yahaba’s. For a guy who’d been so adamant about the two of them meeting up again, he's taking a long time to open the door.

Kiki’s getting restless. She's meowing and rubbing her face against his legs, but whenever he reaches down to pet her, she runs away. It's gotten to the point where he has to grab her to keep her from running downstairs to leave the complex again, because there's no way he's going back down with that fuckhead at the front desk. He saw the way the guy was trying to pick a fight, how he noticeably frowned and tried to make himself look taller (or as tall as a guy who's five foot two can look). A failed intimidation attempt, but it was still an attempt. Kentarou would remember that.

He's ten seconds away from trapping Kiki in his sweatshirt when the door opens _thank fucking Christ_.

But maybe he spoke too soon, because quite frankly, he doesn't know how to feel about Yahaba wearing a dress.

Well, he's _supposed_ to be disgusted and repulsed, but he _isn't_ , and that's the problem. Guys shouldn't be wearing girls clothes. When they do, they’re supposed to look ugly or stupid or fruity.

Yahaba isn't normal, but that doesn't change the fact that _he's_ the one that’s been staring at the damn thing.

A soft teal. It reminds him of their old volleyball uniforms.

“Um… are you okay?” Yahaba’s uneasy- from opening the door in a dress or him not saying a word about it, he doesn't know. Eyebrows doing a weird twitch at the edge, chewing on his bottom lip. He's nervous, as he should be considering Kentarou's reaction ~~or lack thereof~~. But he doesn't know what to say. He's just letting his eyes roam over the fabric. There aren't as many curves as on a woman, but he's got some hips. Subtle, but there.

He looks like a model from a magazine, the ones from ads with perfume samples on the edge of the pages. Maybe he smells like one too.

He breathes in. Nope. All he gets is…

His eyes drift to the right.

“Your cat peed on the floor.”

Yahaba groans and motions for him to come in. “Act like you didn't see it. I don't feel like dealing with it right now.” Kentarou can feel it brush against him as he shuffles past. It's smooth against his leg, and he spares a glance down. There's a belt around his waist, a pearly white to match the dress. The entire thing isn't that long, stopping just shy of his knees. Which have white stockings on them. _All this extra shit must take a hell of a long time to take off._

He doesn't know why he's thinking about that.

He's toed off his shoes and stepped into the living room when Yahaba asks him again. “Is there something wrong?” He's obviously asking about what he's wearing, and he's anxiously waiting for Kentarou to say something. Maybe the curl of a lip in disgust or a snide comment- he's probably preparing for the worst. It's not hard to tell given the way he makes an effort to stay behind Kentarou so he doesn't have to see him.

He wasn't going to _intentionally_ hurt his feelings, but how was he supposed to word it without sounding like a dick? He can't just open up and say ‘I know you don't normally wear dresses, and it doesn't look shitty, but it still makes me feel kinda weird. Not like bad weird, like I don't know how to react weird-’

“Oh… Well I'm wearing it because one of my classmates asked me to try it on so I could take some photos with him, and he said I could keep it since it suited me so well. Do you remember Sugawara? He used to be Karasuno’s vice captain, and he's a design student…”

He hadn't really meant to say all that out loud. He basically just admitted he thought Yahaba looked good. Well, he’s always looked good, it’s just a fact, but in a _fuckin dress_ ? That was just… not something he should ever allow to enter his mind because that’s just _weird_ because people like him aren’t supposed to like guys who wear girls clothes. But Yahaba’s still talking about it and Kentarou doesn’t know what to do except awkwardly look anywhere that’s not the only other person in the room. Kiki’s staring out the window, probably trying to figure out another way to escape. The tv’s playing some American reality show. There’s a new painting on the wall.

Something’s pushing him down, and he turns to see Yabaha _smiling_ at him. Not a fake ‘thanks for the compliment but it was still awkward coming from you’ smile, a genuine, sincere, heartstopping flash of white teeth.“You don’t have to be embarrassed- I know it’s pretty. That’s why I volunteered to wear this one instead of the red one. I thought it made me look bloated, but Suga and Oikawa insist it was fine.” Kentarou doesn’t know to respond to that, so he lets himself sink further onto the couch. He can feel how warm his face is, so he pushes it beneath the collar of his sweatshirt. He hears the fridge open and the clinking of glasses from the cabinet. “Thanks for bringing Kiki back. I don’t know how she keeps getting out.”

Kentarou breathes deeply. Even through the thick material of the sweatshirt he can tell that the plants scattered around help the atmosphere. It’s fresh and faintly sweet. The other end of the couch dips down, and he glances over to see Yahaba with a glass of wine. He raises an eyebrow at that. “I didn’t know you were old enough to drink.”

Yahaba isn’t ashamed or sheepish at all- quite the opposite actually, he’s more smug than anything else. “I’m not, but I figured that I might as well get used to it so I don’t do something stupid next year on my birthday.” Then he’s giving him a suspicious smirk, and Kentarou is so taken aback he almost jumps. “But weren’t _you_ the one who came here with a six pack?”

Kentarou flushes a deep ~~ugly~~ red. “I-It wasn’t for me. I got it for my mom.” He’s never had a drink in his life even though he’s the one who makes all the trips to the store. He’d tried a couple years ago, when the loss to Karasuno was still bruising his pride. Ryoko let him stay at her apartment, and he’d taken a can of beer from her fridge. It was cold in his hand, a stark contrast to the heat surrounding him from the mountain of blankets he’d been given even though he’d said he hadn’t needed them. When he opened the top, the scent hit him. It was metallic and sour and burned his nostrils. He’d held his breath to power through it, but he barely had a mouthful before he was vomiting what little was in his stomach and flushing the rest of the contents of the can.

He must’ve been in dreamland for a while, because Yahaba’s giving him the stinkeye. “What?” Had he offended him since he wasn’t saying anything? Because it wasn’t like he was a talkative person, so he didn’t get why him being quiet would be an issue. Then again, this was Yahaba, and when you don’t see someone for two years, you kind of forget the kind of things that can piss them off.

Yahaba doesn’t appear to be any happier even though he’d spoken up, so that isn’t a good sign. “Why do you have so much glitter on your head?”

And that’s an even worse sign, because he’d completely forgotten about it. Kentarou buries his face in his hands. “My friend dumped it on my head because she’s a dick.”

“You should be careful, girls can get pretty mad if you call them dicks.”

“Well not when she knows it’s true.”

Yahaba’s laughing at him, and Kentarou can feel how hot his face is. He knows it’s that stupid ruby red that Ryoko always squeezes his cheeks and gushes at him for, and he wants to crawl in a hole. “Aw, don’t be like that!” And then Yahaba’s next to him, rubbing glitter deeper into his hair, and Kentarou can feel the dress against his right leg. He jerks, but that just makes Yahaba grin more, and he moves impossibly closer. He’s halfway onto Kentarou’s lap, a leg thrown over his knee and his chest pressed up against his arm as he rubs his hands faster and deeper into his hair. He could almost believe someone was trying to give him a massage if he wasn’t getting _body glitter_ in his _fucking hair_.

“What’re you doing?!”

“It looks good on you!”

“Well then put it on _your_ legs or something- this shit isn’t supposed to go on your face!”

That halts the hands on his head. Kentarou wishes he would start again, because now he can feel the silkiness of the stockings against his knee from where his shorts have shifted, and the softness of the dress against his stomach from where his sweatshirt has ridden up. The belt around Yahaba’s midsection is digging into his bicep, but he doesn’t dare move.

Yahaba’s giving him a confused frown. “What do you mean?”

_This is gonna suck._ “It’s body glitter. You can get a rash if you leave it on your face for too long.” He wants to cringe after he says it, because this opens the door to the conversation he’s been dreading.

That’s when he feels Yahaba tense up and move his leg. But his hands don’t leave his head, and he stays pressed to Kentarou’s side. “Then why, Kyoutani, did you have body glitter on your _head_?” He’s talking slowly, probably so he doesn’t make him uncomfortable, but he still sounds kind of… mad. But Kentarou, for the life of him, can’t figure out why.

He also can’t figure out how to say he works at a strip club without sounding like a pervert. “It’s from work-”

But that just makes him even more eager for an answer.  “Where do you work?”

“A club.”

“What kind of club?”

“One with people in it.”

Yahaba lets out an irritated huff and pulls on a few strands of Kentarou’s hair. He winces and glares, but Yahaba matches the look. “Why do you always have to get smart with me? Just tell me.”

That’s when his conversation with Ryoko comes rushing back. _Just tell him the truth Kentarou. It’s what he wants._ Yahaba wanted the truth, but that was a lot to commit to. He’s never had to tell anyone about anything, not even Ryoko. Kentarou doesn’t think he can tell a stranger something that he hasn’t had to tell his best friend.

So he doesn’t give himself time to think about it any further. He can regret it later.

So he sucks in a shitload of air to calm himself down. His heart’s beating hard in his chest, so much so that he thinks Yahaba might be able to feel it from where he’s pressed against his side. “It’s… it’s a strip club-”

Yahaba blows up. “You work at a strip club?!”

“Why are you yelling?!”

“Because one, I’m mad you didn’t tell me the first time I asked,” Kentarou rolls his eyes at that, “and two, trying to figure out why you have a stripper’s body glitter on your head!” To emphasize his anger, he pulls particularly hard on his hair. Kentarou hisses from the pain and finally reaches up to grab Yahaba’s wrists, holding them firmly even though Yahaba’s still giving him dirty looks.

Kentarou grimaces, but it turns into an exasperated sigh. He lets go of Yahaba and rubs his hands over his face. “Why do you always get so pissed? I do what you say and you still get mad.” Talking to Yahaba is too much work. They can never have a normal conversation; they always end up fighting.

Surprisingly, Yahaba pauses at that. “I’m not pissed…okay, I _am_ , but I’m only mad because I’m worried about you.” His hands and back on his head, but they aren’t pulling, they’re just sitting there. Yahaba’s collecting his thoughts, and Kentarou shifts so the belt stops digging into his arm. “I just want to make sure nothing is wrong, you know? I don’t want you getting into fights with jealous husbands or boyfriends.”

Kentarou snorts at that. The most he’s ever gotten was a slap by a woman who used to work there because he’d walked in on her giving a guy- who wasn’t her boyfriend- a blowjob. “The only people strippers fight with is each other, and it’s mostly over customers. They only get mad at me when I fuck up.”

He can feel Yahaba snicker against him and he slides down. “Sounds about right.” They’re back to sitting next to each other, but Kentarou is acutely aware of how close they really are. Like, they’re _really_ close. Kiki thinks this is great, and she just jumps on his lap to maneuver her way into the small crevice between his right thigh and Yahaba’s left one. Besides the purring and the annoying voice of whoever’s on the tv, it’s quiet again. His eyes drift to Yahaba’s legs again.

Silk. White.

He thinks he’s seem them in the club before, but he doesn’t remember who was wearing them.

Kentarou opens his mouth to say something, anything to distract himself from where his mind is wandering, but Yahaba beats him to it. “What kind of stuff do you do at work?” He’s absentmindedly petting Kiki, eyes trained on the tv.

Kentarou forces himself to look away from Yahaba’s stockings. “Mainly just costumes. I gotta make sure everything is secure before they strut on stage and whip it out.” Yahaba chortles at that. “But for all the shit I have to go through, the pay isn’t even that great. Barely get one-fifty every two weeks.” Just the thought of his crime of a paycheck is pissing him off. He’d tried to ask for a more reasonable salary, but all he’d earned that day was a cracked rib and bruises that lasted for weeks.

Yahaba hums, his hands stilling on Kiki’s back. “Have you tried working somewhere else?”

“Nobody else would hire me.” And for good reason. He had a habit of lifting whatever he couldn’t afford, so most of the places hiring knew his face for stealing. The other ones knew his face from his mother, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever work for a person who’d been serviced by her in the past.

That causes a couple furrowed eyebrows and a pout on Yahaba. “I guess working for shit pay would be better than not getting paid at all.” That's when the hands stroking Kiki’s back come to a halt, and the cat stares at him, like she _knows_ it's Kentarou's fault. “Why do you have to work so much anyway?”

Of course. Why wouldn’t he ask?

Kentarou groans and leans his head back against the couch. “Do I _have_ to talk about it?”

He hears a grunt and feels a sharp pinch on his arm. “You don’t _have_ to tell me anything, but I’d like to know so I can understand what you’re going through.”

Kentarou frowns. For some reason, he feels like crying. He doesn't get why though, because it's not like what he's going to say is news to him. “You you want the whole story or just the short version?”

“The whole story.”

Kentarou turns to look at him, his neck craned at an unusual angle from its place on the couch. Yahaba’s got his stupid pout and he’s giving him the look **™**. So he agrees, begrudgingly, to tell Yahaba whatever he wants to hear.

But he’s not going to look at him when he does it. The ceiling seems like the better option.

 

* * *

 

_It’s his second year putting on this damn uniform, but he can’t manage to put his tie on in one shot. He’s too clumsy; his hands are too big and their movements are jerky and uncoordinated from the pent up energy and frustration. The shirt is constricting, but he doesn’t ask the school for another size. He’ll make do._

 

_He messes up with the tie again. He’s going too fast._

 

_He doesn’t have the option to slow down though, because it’s already four in the morning and he’s got to leave before anyone can see him. He reaches into his bag, pulling out his toothbrush. He’d keep it in the bathroom, but he doesn’t trust it to not be used by some random person for some random purpose. He’s going through the robotic motions he always does. Squirt a pin sized amount of toothpaste on the brush from the near-empty tube. Back and forth, back and forth. Spit. Rinse. Except he can’t rinse, because when he turns the knob, nothing happens. The water’s been turned off. He sighs and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, stopping to stare at his reflection. His eyes are bloodshot and the natural dark undertones are magnified by his lack of sleep. He spares a glimpse at his clothes._

 

_He’s going to stand out. There’s not much he can do except wear a thin jacket to cover his blazer and hope nobody looks at his pants. He can shove it in his bag when he gets into the city. His shoes come with the uniform, but he still has to hide them from his mother or she’s going to take it upon herself to pawn them. Rent money. Condoms. Whatever she feels she needs at the particular time._

 

Speak of the devil.

 

_“Tryin’ to sneak out, huh?” She's leaning against the wall, acting as a barricade between himself and the door._

 

_He keeps his tone neutral. “I’m goin’ to school early. I don’t feel like gettin’ mugged on the way there.” His voice is hoarse and gravelly. He wants a cough drop._

 

_But she doesn’t notice, sending him a viper-like smile with shrewd laughter. “Kenny, you know what time of month it is. You need to work, not walk three miles to prep school.” He_ does _know what time of month it is. Bill collectors are going to stop by sooner rather than later, and they have two, maybe three days to get all the money they owe._

 

_His mother decides it’s an appropriate time to come closer, and he tenses._

 

_She moves behind him. He holds his breath._

 

_But he doesn’t feel any pain, her arms winding around his neck and pulling his back against her chest. She’s humming in his ear; an old song he remembers hearing from a neighbor as a child. It’s the same sweet, melodic song that was sung as he stood on a pair of feet when they danced, but_ this time _… this time was forced. It wasn’t heartfelt or outspoken. It was stringent._

 

_She was_ mocking _him._

 

_“Kenny, baby, you know I’m having a bit of trouble paying by myself. We’re a team remember? It’s us against the world.”_

 

_He doesn’t dare open his mouth._

 

_“So I need you to get home_ on time _for once. You can’t keep staying out past eight, okay?” That’s when the arms coiled around his neck tighten, the air caught in his throat. But the silence won’t save him- he needs to tell her._

 

_So he slowly raises his hand, gently patting the arms caught on his adam's apple. It loosens, and he can breath. He closes his eyes, chest puffed out with air that doesn't make talking any easier. “I… I’m goin’ back to practice. For volleyball. The club asked me to come back for the upcoming game, so I… uh…”_

 

_That’s when the laughter starts, and he can feel his cheeks blazing. “Really? You’re skipping out on your job to knock some balls against the ground? Y-You couldn’t even make it through two years before now!” There’s a spike in volume when she utters the last words, and he stares at the floor._

 

_He wants to leave. He wants to go to school and have stupid arguments with his teammates and piss people off with his face. He doesn’t want to be ridiculed._

 

_As subtly as he can, he tries to step away, but she notices- she always does. She yanks him against her, and he almost falls over. “What do you think you’re gonna gain from going back Kenny? You got into fights every other week, you didn’t make it to nationals, and when it comes down to it, all you do it waste time that could be spent working.”_

 

_She’s wrong. Volleyball was good for him. He had ~~someone~~ something _ _to work for now. A reason to keep going. It wasn’t a waste of time._

 

_“We’re going to nationals this year.” He blurts it out before he can even consider the consequences. He gets a scratch on the side of his neck for that._

 

_But she’s silent behind him, and her arms have lowered so only her hands are around his neck. “Really now? And how is your team going to do that? With_ you _?” She tsks at the mere mention of it, and his blood boils. “You don’t think I know about you, Kenny? I’ve heard things. You scream and complain like a little bitch, don’t you? You’re gonna pull that team into the gutter.”_

 

_He snaps his head towards her. “I won’t.”_

 

_She actually looks shocked. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but he knows how he feels. He’s furious. And he’s excited. Because for once, he can prove that_ he’s _right, that he knows what he’s doing._

 

_That he doesn’t need her._

 

_Maybe that’s why she drops the wry smile and narrows her eyes. “Put your money where your mouth is, boy.” And her hands drop from his neck, leaving a stinging cold from where they rested._

 

_“W-What do you mean?”_

 

_Her gaze is malicious, and he can’t look away._

 

_Those eyes are just like his. He feels nauseous._

 

_She glowering at him, her nose upturned and arms crossed. He unconsciously makes himself smaller to try and escape, but he knows it won’t work. No matter where he goes, those eyes will be watching him. “If you think you’re good enough to make a team that was fine without you better than it already is, then go ahead. Miss work, quit your job, move out. The day you make it to nationals, I’ll even tell you your old man’s name so you can see how little you are compared to him.” That hurt. He can feel the moisture pooling in the corner of his eyes, feel the prickling in his throat. “But if you drag them down, you’ll cut the shit, go back to work, and I won’t hear another word from you. Understood?”_

 

_And what else can he do except nod and cast his eyes to the floor? It’s not enough of an answer, so she sinks her nails into his throat, making him force out a yes with a cracking voice and barely contained tears. He leaves the apartment at 4:34 in the morning with his bag on his shoulder, his mother cackling, and liquid running down his cheeks._

 

_That day, he gets in another argument with Yahaba when they exit school grounds at the same time. He leaves the setter shaking with rage and humiliation._

 

_*~*_

 

_They lose to Karasuno. He quits three days later, ignoring the ogling of his former teammates and the questions concerning his broken nose._

 

_*~*_

 

_Studying for upcoming exams is interfering with his work schedule. The need for rent and food overpowers that of a passing grade on a test._

 

_He drops out the Friday before exams start._

 

_That afternoon, he waits at one of the parks that connect Sendai to his neighborhood. His hands are sweating. No matter how much he clenches and unclenches them he cannot, for the life of him, calm down. He’s been here since five. He checks the watch he’d taken from a teacher's desk earlier that day._

 

_It’s seven. He’ll wait a little longer._

 

_He scuffs his sneakers against the ground, the moon casting light through the trees._

 

_It’s nine. He’ll wait a little longer._

 

_He yawns for the upteenth time, his eyes droopy and his heart broken._

 

_It’s 11:27 when he finally leaves Aoba Johsai behind._

  
_  
He walks away. Shigeru doesn’t follow him._

 

_He doesn’t expect him to, but he’d taken a chance, held out a little hope. It hadn’t worked._

 

_*~*_

_The dye fades from his hair months later. He doesn’t redo it. Instead, he asks his boss if she’d be willing to pay him more if he does makeup as well as costumes. She agrees, and he turns to Ryoko for guidance on the proper pre-show routine. He learns how to use all the tools he needs to, and he differentiates the colors for cosmetics and the shades for fabric._

 

_In the middle of September when he’s seventeen, he indulges in his secret. He meets the fifteen year old in an alleyway. His name is Kaito, a skinny thing with curly, chestnut hair and tan skin. His cheeks are pink when he whispers his confession. That night, Kaito invites him to his house, and he takes the younger boy on dirty, bug ridden sheets with a cheap condom he’d stuffed into his pocket on the way over. Kaito doesn’t have lube, and neither does he, but the flushed face and half lidded eyes of Kaito beg him to keep going anyway._ _~~He imagines that the muffled whines and choked moans belong to someone else~~. _

 

_The week after he turns eighteen, he finds out that Kaito’s father beat and castrated him. “Serves him right for bein’ a fag. You make sure to teach any you see a lesson, okay Kenny?” His mother and her friends are looking at him expectantly, so he nods. The lie scalds his insides. The other women congratulate his mother for having a real man for a son._

 

_On Valentine’s Day when he’s eighteen, he takes a bouquet of flowers to Kaito’s grave. He cries for the boy, but leaves before anybody can see he’s there._

 

_Three months later during the same year, he finds a letter addressed to him under a pile of garbage bags beneath the sink. It’s from Watari._

 

_His mother scoffs when she notices it in his hand. “Oh, that? It’s been here for a while. I thought I told you.”_

 

_It infuriates him. “_ What _?! How long has this been here?!”_

 

_That infuriates her. “I don’t know! And don’t yell at me, remember who you’re talking to!”_

 

_“Who brought it here?! Was it the mail guy, or was it someone I knew?!”_

 

_“Nobody came to see you!”_

 

_“Are you sure I didn’t know them?!”_

 

_“How the fuck should I know if you knew them or not?!”_

 

_“Because you’re here twelve hours a day, but apparently-”_

 

_“Watch yourself Kenny, don’t say something you’ll regret!”_

 

_He doesn’t listen._ ~~_He should have._ ~~ _“-you’re too busy shoving dick in your mouth and getting crabs to answer the damn door and come get me out of my fuckin’ room!”_

 

_The silence is what made him think he was in the clear, but when he turns to go to his room, he’s mistaken. Something solid slams into the back of his head, pain billowing throughout his entire body. He stumbles, falling to the wall for support. There's a magenta-ish substance on the floor, pooling around broken glass._

 

_“I already told you Kentarou, nobody came to see you. So don't you dare raise your voice to me again,_ **_ever_ ** _.”_

 

_There’s something pulling and pushing, and then he’s in the hall, the door slamming behind him._

 

_It’s two hours later, when the person he will later recognize as Ryoko is sobbing and trying to keep him awake, that he realizes the back of his head is bleeding, his body feels fifty pounds too heavy, and he doesn’t remember who he is or where he is or if he’s even alive._

 

_It’s two days after he blacks out that he realizes that he could’ve died. That his mother could’ve killed him. He returns to his apartment to find his mother, and the letter, gone._

 

_The day after that is the first and only time he cuts his wrist. The scar fades within a week, just as every other one he’s gotten._

 

_For the rest of the year, until his nineteenth birthday, he doesn’t speak a word against his mother. The only time he does is the 8th of December._

 

_“Happy birthday Kenny.”_

 

_“My birthday was yesterday.”_

 

_“Really? Happy belated. Do me a favor and buy some more drinks.”_

 

_When he’s nineteen, starting in the middle of June, he thinks a lot about dying. At the end of that month, he picks a date._

 

_The beginning of July, the day before the date he’s set, he finds a stray cat that isn’t a stray at all._

 

_That same night, he finds Yahaba._

 

* * *

 

Kentarou doesn’t have to see him to know Yahaba’s crying. His sniffling is loud and he smells like salt.

The ceiling has tiny spikes on it. He doesn’t know how people get the paint to look like that.

Yahaba’s tugging his arm to get his attention, but he doesn’t give in. Kiki jumps from her spot between the two of them. Yahaba’s moving, but he doesn’t care to move. His neck is sore from leaning back for so long.

There’s weight on his lap that wasn’t there before, but he doesn’t really care to ask. He has a headache.

There are hands against his face. They’re warm, but a little wet. He supposes it’s alright as long as it isn’t snot.

Then the hands are tilting his head forward, and the bones in his neck crack. Yahaba’s a mess. His eyes are puffing and he’s doing this gross heavy breathing. Kentarou tells him so. “You’re an ugly crier, you know that?”

“Y-You told me that already.” And then Yahaba’s crying harder, tears dripping right onto the collar of his dress. Kentarou isn’t willing to agree that people thinking that guys who wear dresses look good are sane, he _is_ willing to agree that the dress itself is beautiful, and it’s a shame it’s getting wet. So what is he supposed to do besides lift his hands to Yahaba’s face to try to dry his tears? It doesn’t help much, but when he runs his thumbs under Yahaba’s eyes, he earns a wobbly smile and a hiccup. “I thought you just said I was ugly.”

Kentarou shakes his head. “Not ugly, just an ugly crier.”

Of all the things he expects to happen, a giggle is not one of them. Neither is a kiss, but he accepts both of them, even though the latter tastes of a mix of salt and red wine. He doesn’t like the taste of the alcohol, so when Yahaba tries to push his tongue through his lips, Kentarou pulls back. When Yahaba gives him a confused and vaguely irritated huff, he just smiles.

“You’re gonna taste like snot.”

That earns a weak slap, and Kentarou doesn’t hold back his snort. Yahaba kisses him again, but he doesn’t complain when their mouths open and their tongues dance. It’s slow and sloppy, but that isn’t a bad thing.

His hands are everywhere. Down Yahaba’s back, up his side, back down his back. Yahaba’s breath hitches, and Kentarou moves his lips to the junction of his neck. He bites down, and he does it again and again and again, each new sound he manages to pull out of Yahaba egging him on.

But when his hands reach Yahaba's legs and he tries to slide off the stockings, Yahaba stops him. Breathless and eager, he’s scooching off Kentarou’s lap, guiding him by the hand to his room.

It’s not romantic, the way they’re clumsily pulling off each others clothes and fumbling for lube and a condom ruining any sort of mood that could have surfaced.

“Please,” He’s panting and arching his back, Kentarou’s fingers pumping leisurely inside of him, “I need it Kentarou, give it to me- _fuck,_ I need you so bad Ken!”

When he’s buried deep inside Yahaba, his face nuzzled into his neck while his name is chanted like a mantra, he hears it being whispered. “Say it Kentarou, please, _please_ -”

It’s broken in between a series of moans and whimpers, but he knows what he’s asking for.

So when Kentarou finishes, he growls like a wild animal, “ _Shigeru._ ”

Shigeru doesn’t let go of him for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

It’s four days before he leaves Shigeru’s house.

The first day, Shigeru asks him to come to the store with him because he wants to make fried chicken. It’s on this day that he learns Shigeru likes to waste money.

“What kind of flour did you get?”

Kentarou raises an eyebrow at that. “The cheapest one. Store brand.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Ew. Not name brand?”

“It’s doin’ the same job. You ain’t gonna taste it.”

“But-”

“Unless you’re referring to your ass, I don’t wanna hear it.”

It’s on the second day that Shigeru asks him to do his makeup. He wants to see what he’s really capable of, he says. Kentarou only agrees on the condition he doesn’t tell anyone. He giggles when he feel the brushes on his cheeks, and he laughs so much that it’s hard to put on eyeshadow and apply his eyeliner. He should stop telling him stories about the horrors of the strip club if he doesn’t want him to keep at it, but something about his laugh makes his heart beat faster. The two hours of work are worth it, because when Shigeru posts a selfie and all the compliments come flooding in, the lipstick stamps nicely on his lips. Doesn’t taste too good though, and he makes a point to tell Shigeru when they’re breathing heavily and he’s hovering over him.

It’s on the third day he tells Shigeru he loves him, and he hears it whispered back when they're still winding down from their state of euphoria that night.

The fourth day is when Kiki runs away again.

Shigeru has to stay late at school to work on a project. Kentarou asks for her chip code, looks it up on Shigeru’s computer, and goes to find her.

She's in his neighborhood again.

The address isn't his own, but it's the next best thing. It's Ryoko’s.

Kiki is crouched on Ryoko’s doormat, and when he moves to pick her up, he feels it.

He isn't ready.

It's familiar is what it is, how he can feel it throughout his entire body, but it's still notably different. Everything is happening in clips, like a poorly edited video.

First he's leaning on the door. Then he's inside, on the floor of the living room.

Someone is shaking him. It's Ryoko. She's got fat tears running down her face, and she’s pleading with him to stay awake.

But he _is_ awake.

At least he thinks so.

He tries to move his head, but she holds him still.

Kiki is gone. She probably ran back home.

He's annoyed; if he'd known she'd just come back, he would've waited at Shigeru’s.

Speaking of, where was he?

Ryoko leaves to get something, and he realizes how drained he is.

It's been a long day. He's tired.

She's not in the room, so he decides to rest his eyes until she gets back.

Kentarou doesn't think he's going to have nightmares or relive painful memories. And he's right; instead, he dreams of the days he's spent with Shigeru. Their petty arguments about which dog breed is the cutest, the time he spent trying to teach Shigeru how to cook something without burning it, the nights they spent clinging to each other. He feels weightless.

  
Best night's sleep he's ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4\. im also starting to think this was a bad idea (you'll see why)  
> 5\. shoutout to [Regrets™](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10163207/chapters/23072424) for the dog breed line


	5. Finality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kentarou goes to sleep.

Kentarou doesn't wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i decided to post this chapter a day early  
> 2\. spring break starts tomorrow for me, so expect the final chapter in the next two or three days  
> 3\. feed me comments (im goin through withdrawal)


	6. Indiscretion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shigeru learns and Kiki reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i didn't edit this  
> 2\. you thought it was the end, but it was me, Ken Killer! (plz don't take that seriously it's joke)  
> 3\. i used thesaurus.com for the chapter titles  
> 4\. read the end to figure out wtf this is supposed to be and why tf i killed my darling dog son and his bf  
> 5\. if you wanna see that gud shit, go read Loud, where ken is happy and has a bf and friends and shit

Shigeru considers himself a lucky person. There are times when he doesn’t get his way and sometimes the stress is so prevalent that he screams his frustration into his pillow, but generally, he thinks his life is better than most people’s. He goes to an amazing college. His family is well off. His friends are one-of-a-kind. All in all, his life is pretty great.

When Kentarou leaves, he finds things less great.

He hates it.

Shigeru walks through the door expecting to hear a documentary about the ocean on the tv or rap music he can’t understand. All he gets is a meow from the cat tower.

"Kentarou?"

Silence.

He sets his bag on the coffee table, making his way to his room. He shouts, waiting for the deep voice to say something, _anything_ to let him know he was still here. He is met with the faint echo of his own voice.

He ignores the dark churning in the pit of his stomach. Kentarou is at work. He’ll be home soon.

The bed is much too large to sleep in by himself, and much too cold to be able to rest properly. Shigeru pulls out a blanket, switches on Hulu, and lays on the couch.

Coming home to a quiet apartment shouldn’t be strange. Shigeru’s lived by himself for a year now, and he’s developed a sense of comfort here. This was a nice apartment in a nice neighborhood near a nice college. Sure, the landlord is a creep that always tries to find a reason to talk to him and he can’t get to sleep because of the noise outside, but he knows he’s in a good place. It got lonely sometimes, but that’s what his adorable princess Kiki was for.

There’s a joke. He misses it, but forces himself to laugh anyway.

He’s worried about him, though he doesn’t think he should be. He tries to call him on Skype. No answer.

Shigeru doesn’t know a lot about Kentarou- in fact, he doesn’t know anything about him personally. He knows the little things. He used to go to Seijou with him. He used to be in the same year as him. He used to be a member of the volleyball team. He has freckles. His back is littered with scars, and while they’re few in number, they’re much too big to not to have hurt when he got them.

All in all, Shigeru should consider Kentarou a stranger. Whenever he’d heard his name brought up in school, he felt nothing but blind fury and distaste. He’d quit the club. He’d left school altogether. Seijou had gotten a new ace during his third year, and they’d managed to make it to their second match at nationals, but he remembered what’d happened when the news about Kentarou first hit.

The utter disappointment of Iwaizumi, because he really thought he cared about the sport. The pure, unadulterated rage of Oikawa, because he thought that match had _changed_ something in him. The rumors speculating why he left spread like wildfire. He was in a gang that ran into some trouble and he had to bail them out. He got a girl pregnant and had to support her. He got sick of school. He moved to America. Mindless rumors and white noise. After a week, everything went back to the way it was, and Kentarou was nothing. Nobody spoke of him. Nobody remembered him.

Shigeru closes his eyes. The sounds of the city seep through the walls.

Shigeru hadn’t cared. He was more concerned about himself. Test scores, volleyball, his parents, his grandparents, his sisters. He’d had a lot to handle. The stress of exams and the need to succeed had been crippling. Between pushing himself to set faster and play better in volleyball and studying hard to be the son he was supposed to, he had to live up to a legacy both in and out of school. It was overwhelming. The actions of someone he’d barely known hadn’t interested him unless it interfered with his daily life. Watari had been curious and did his own digging, but Shigeru hadn’t asked about it.

Study guides piled up on his desk. Knee pads fell apart. The soles of his sneakers fell out. His mother and sisters supported him. His father pushed him to further his studies so he could reach first in his class. His grandparents were eager to see what he could do. He wasn’t good enough though. He’s strived for perfection, but he could never reach it. His sets were off, he only got tenth in his class, and he couldn’t find anything worth writing to his grandparents.

He realized _why_ he could never be perfect when he found it. It was the day when the gym floors were being cleaned and Watari was busy with tutoring. Not a day off, not by a long shot, because he’d had two quizzes to study for. He hadn’t had to rush home though, so he could actually collect himself when he reached in to grab his shoes. That’s when he saw it. Shoved in the very back of his shoe locker, was a crumpled up piece of paper. He’d dug it out, trying his best to smooth out the wrinkles so he could read it.

He didn’t even need to. The crude, hastily written kanji and the name on the bottom told him what he needed to know.

_I know you hate me and stuff but I kinda have a thing for you so-_

It’s when he’s in his room, the paper buried deep inside his desk drawer that he realizes his trembling isn't from disgust. It’s from anxiety, sadness, and… and...

_Longing._

But longing for _what_?

He wrote his grandparents about it. While he waited for a reply, he stared at the paper every morning before he left for the day, and every night before he slept.

He’d absolutely despised Kentaoru. He’d wanted the other boy to _burn_ , to fail at whatever he did. He was so far ahead without even trying that is pissed him off to no end. He wasn’t smart like Shigeru, he wasn’t social like Shigeru, but he was still so much _better_ that it was infuriating. The only comfort he’d had was that Kentarou had felt the same. Well, at least he’d thought he had. How was he supposed to have reacted after suddenly learning that his self-proclaimed enemy _loved_ him?

His grandparents said they wished they could have met Kentarou. He sounded like he had fire in him, they’d said. Shigeru had felt the tears running down his cheeks, and he cried until he couldn’t muster enough energy to keep his eyes open. He hadn’t known what he was crying for, but when he woke up feeling half dead, he went to school anyway. His father insisted on making him maintain a perfect attendance record.

He’d failed the test he’d taken that day. Two days later, his father grounded him for it. “You’re slacking off. I can’t have you making stupid mistakes at the most important time of your life.”

Shigeru, for the first time in his life, told his father he hated him, eyes full of contempt and so many pent up emotions that his sisters and mother remained silent until he’d slammed his door shut with enough force to knock a painting down in the hall. He’d refused to speak to his family for days after that. His mother asked if he’d like to visit his grandparents for the weekend, and he wordlessly boarded the train by himself an hour before the rest of his family was ready to go.

_“Not everyone is perfect Shi-chan. You have to have someone around to remind you that once in awhile, or the weight on your shoulders will keep dragging you down.”_

They’d been picking strawberries from the garden when his grandmother spoke, and he felt the mask crack a bit.

_“But what if I’m still not good enough for them?”_

_“There’s no such thing as ‘good enough for them’, Shi-chan. Only good enough for_ you _.”_

It was then that he realized what he’d wanted. What he’d been longing for.

He’d wanted to be the not-so-perfect son that people weren’t constantly looking at. He’d wanted to be ordinary.

Kind of like how he felt with Kentarou. He wasn’t someone who Kentarou felt he had to impress. He wasn’t as important. When Kentarou spoke to him, he hadn’t treated him like he was above him. He treated him like everyone else, like he was just another face in the crowd.

With Kentarou, Shigeru felt _inferior_. For once, he felt like like it was okay to not be the best _._ And he wanted to feel it again.

He knew the way he wanted to use the boy who admitted to having feelings for him was despicable. But he yearned for that sense of insignificance, that he didn’t really matter, that he could make mistakes and nobody would notice. That if Kentarou was there to draw everyone’s attention, he was _free_ . Free to mess up and be himself and be _happy_.

But he hadn’t known Kentarou. They hadn't been friends. He hadn’t known where he lived.

Shigeru apologized to his mother and sisters. His father removed his punishment, and asked what he wanted to do with his life. He hadn’t known at the time, so he said he wanted to be a vet. A random decision, but his father approved. His father took him to a doctor. He’d gotten sleeping pills. They helped him rest easier, but he’d still been pounded into the ground by his responsibilities.

Shigeru yawns. It’s midnight and Kentarou still isn’t back yet. He tells himself that he will be soon.

He graduated and lived up to about one fourth of the expectations laid out for him. The obligations of high school fell away, but the ones with college rose. Maintain a good GPA at the school his parents got their masters. Become a success in the field of his choosing. He’d known from the first day he got there that he’d have to work double time just to keep up with everything.

He knew from day one he’d never be able to do it. He knew from day one he needed a new Kentarou.

His first few weeks were the ones where he tried to find someone. He wanted to be able to be with someone that made his problems seem like specks of dust. He dated three guys before he found he couldn’t do it. They all held him on a pedestal he hadn’t wanted to stand on, treated him like he might break if they were too rough with him, moved slowly and asked every other second if they were going too hard or too fast and it all just made things _worse_. Sugawara and Akaashi and Oikawa were and still are the most amazing people he’d ever seen, but they hadn’t been able to understand. They'd had people to tell them they weren’t invincible. They'd looked at Shigeru as someone who knew how to balance everything. But he couldn’t, and eventually, he let it fall over. He’d started taking five pills a night instead of his prescribed two, and they helped him forget, just for a while, what it was like have problems. The cage opened a little, just to give him a taste of what freedom was. The next day he’d be reminded of who he was and where he was and what he had to do, the cage locked again.

His sisters knew because they’d caught him swallowing a near handful when he was too tired to count out a safe amount. They’d agreed to stay quiet if _he_ agreed to take steps towards solving his problems.

He can’t remember why he’d gotten Kiki. He knew he was doing what he promised, but he’d meant to have gotten a dog ~~a bull terrier to remind him of Kentarou is what he had really wanted~~ . But then he saw her, staring at him with eyes that asked him _why are you here, what do you want, who are you looking for, do you need help_. After he spent ¥2,000, gotten a new collar, and sent three Snaps to Oikawa, he’d adopted a cat. He doesn’t know when she’d started leaving the house, but she always comes back. Kiki’s a smart girl.

It’s noon. Kentarou isn’t home yet. He supposes he can call in sick to wait for him. He doesn’t want him to come back to an empty room.

When he'd gotten a call from Tsukasa saying someone had found his cat, he knew something was wrong. She'd never needed an escort before. He hadn't known who the person was, but if his landlord was saying they were a threat, it probably wasn’t meant to be taken with too much force. He was a lonely pervert who was trying to sneak into Shigeru’s life (like he’d ever let _that_ happen though). He’d been standing at the door, waiting for the person to knock so he could thank them and get to sleep, but he hadn’t been prepared to see him standing there.

Kentarou. Kentarou was at the door. _Kyoutani Kentarou_ , after two years of no contact, had found his way to Shigeru. He’d thought it was fate. He’d wanted to pull Kentarou inside and keep him there, locked away so he couldn’t ever leave Shigeru again. But of course his shitstain of a landlord had to ruin everything, and although it hadn’t gone as bad as he’d expected, Kentarou still left the next day, his visits varying from five minutes to five hours for the next few weeks.

Shigeru tries to call again.

He got mad with Kentarou. He’d been able to say things he’d only ever told his grandparents. He was more relaxed with Kentarou. He’d been able to sleep knowing someone was going to text him the next day and not expect him to be nice. He waited for Kentarou. He’d dropped some things; no more extra tutoring, no more helping people with mindless tasks. He had to be there for when he showed up.

He was _himself_ with Kentarou. He didn’t have to pretend to be nice or try to impress people like when he was with Oikawa or Sugawara or Akaashi or whoever else. He wasn’t the one drawing the attention in their relationship, it was Kentarou. _Kentarou_ was the one who needed the unconditional love and the people who cared too much and the money he could spend anytime he wanted-

Dial tone. Static. Sniffling. “Hello? Is this Yahaba-san?”

He stiffens. This isn’t Kentarou. “Who is this?”

“Can I meet you somewhere? It’s about him. It’s- I just- I tried to help but-”

He leaves his apartment wearing a pair of his old sweatpants while tugging on a black sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to him.

 

~*~

 

Ryoko. He’s learned that this is Ryoko Katsura, the woman Kentarou works with and claims to be his best friend. He’s sitting on the bench in a park that, apparently, is close to where Kentarou lives. Ryoko, the woman with grey boyfriend shorts and smeared makeup and puffy eyes, is _lying_ to him. He wants to punch her red lips for even _thinking_ the vile things she’s saying could pass as a joke. ~~But he knows it’s not a joke.~~

But if she _is_ joking, why is she sobbing? If she’s joking, how come all he can see is water? ~~If she’s joking, why does he feel like he should believe her?~~

Her hands are grasping his shoulders, voice wobbly, laced with sorrow and regret. “I’m so sorry Yahaba-san… I just, I _called_ them, a-and they didn’t show up! I tried to do what I could, but I couldn’t do it by myself!”

He doesn’t believe her ~~he thinks he should, but he doesn’t~~ . “I-I just saw him yesterday… he was fine. He should _be_ fine!” His voice cracks and his shoulders shake. She’s lying to him. She has to be. ~~He knows she isn’t.~~

But Ryoko is crying harder, and her face is dripping with makeup and snot and tears because she’s trying to make him understand. But Shigeru doesn’t know how he’s supposed to believe something like this. ~~He knows how; he’s just been told.~~

How is he supposed to believe that Kentarou’s own mother would throw a wine bottle at the back of his head? How is he supposed to believe that it happened once before and he’d been fine, but this time he wasn’t? Surely if he was fine the last time, he’ll be fine this time, surely. ~~The first is probably what made it harder for him to survive this time.~~

But if that’s true, then why is he crying? And where is Kentarou? Why isn’t he home with Shigeru when he knows he misses him?

He can’t stay here. He can’t listen to this.

Ryoko desperately tries to get him to stay, to talk a little bit longer, but he can’t. He can’t even _breathe_ , let alone talk. Shigeru’s face is cold, his legs are numb, and his eyes are nothing but husks.

~*~

Reality sinks in a week later.

A week of Shigeru going through the motions, applying three pounds of industrial strength glue to his mask so nobody can judge him for slipping up. When Ryoko calls him, he’s hesitant to show up again, fearful of her lies and whatever else she thinks humor is supposed to be. But she’s silent as she walks with him, and he ignores the way his legs have to be dragged in front of each other, as though each step is some grand trial that he had to overcome. He has flowers, and she does too, and she had a bouquet of carnations.

White. Yellow. Red. Shigeru’s favorites.

“He said they were his favorite.”

That’s a lie.

_Shigeru_ had been the one to tell him that carnations, those three colors specifically, where _his_ favorite. When asked if he had a favorite flower, he shook his head with a gruff no.

He’s so good to him. His chest feels much too tight, his heart trying to claw its way out of him.

The cemetery is large and gravestones are scattered around in no particular order. They’re not alphabetical or chronological like they should be. They’re just put wherever there’s space.

It’s when he sees where they’re going, the newly placed stone and it’s clear coat of paint, that he wants to run. He wants to scream and cry and rant about how unfair it is, because this was supposed to be a _lie_.

Kentarou was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be on his way home after another grueling day of work, and he was supposed to be making Shigeru laugh and teach him how to make fried chicken and sleep in a room that’s two times too large so he can try to get him to move in so they don’t have to worry so much when the other isn’t there.

But the kanji carved into some crude piece of rock, how the date corresponds with when he left and where he’s gone, he knows that the things that were supposed to happen never would.

Kentarou was not fine. He was not coming home.

And that breaks him, but he’s still there. Still somewhat stable.

The thing that _shatters him_ , the thing that Ryoko tells him after he’s been standing stock still and weeping and keening for nearly two hours, is what completely destroys him.

“He always said you were too good for him, you know. But he didn’t care; he loved you anyway, Yahaba-san.”

When he hears it, it doesn’t fully register in his mind. He’s still emptying his tear ducts and spilling noises of a thousand pained souls. He’s still trying to understand why it had to have been _him_ , and why not somebody, anybody else, why the world had to take Kentarou away from him because Shigeru just _needed him_ so much that it _hurt_.

He’s sitting on his couch, letting rap music that’s probably full of profane words and cruel slurs blast through his speakers, because that’s what Kentarou had done every night he’d spent here, even though Shigeru had gotten numerous noise complaints. He tries not to think of the time at the graveyard, but he can’t help it. It shouldn’t be real, but it is. Ryoko should’ve been lying, lying about him being hurt and him not being okay and the ambulance never coming and him thinking Shigeru was-

… And him thinking Shigeru was too good for him.

_Oh._

Inhale. Exhale.

It’s too fast. Trying to count or regulate it isn’t working.

Was _that_ it?

Was _that_ why this happened?

Had _he_ done this? Had he made Kentarou want to leave him out of fear of disappointing him? Because that was the only explanation that made sense, wasn’t it? There’s no way Kentarou would just, just die right? He wouldn’t. So that means it was Shigeru who’d done it. _He’d_ done this, acted like some sort of poison that had killed the only person that made him himself, because Kentarou hadn’t cared about how good Shigeru was or how important he was, only that he was there so he could _love him_ -

Unless he actually _had._

Unless he’d actually been holding back because he thought Shigeru was too far out of his reach, even though he’d been sitting there, right in his arms, for hours on end. Unless he thought of Shigeru as some porcelain doll that he couldn’t be rough with, and he’d held back, both emotionally and physically and he hadn’t _told him anything._

Because that would mean Kentarou had been wrong. So, so wrong.

Shigeru was so much worse than him. He couldn’t breathe or work or function normally without him here. He was so reliant on Kentarou’s massive aura that he couldn’t _do_ anything without him around. He was too worried about people whose fascination with him was only face level. He couldn’t do what he needed without Kentarou beside him, commanding everyone’s attention to give Shigeru some space so he could _live._

Shigeru couldn’t be Shigeru without Kentarou.

Shigeru and no Kentarou equals no Shigeru.

Shigeru _needs_ Kentarou.

Kentarou doesn’t need Shigeru, but Shigeru needs Kentarou so badly it’s tearing him apart from the inside, peeling away the muscles in his body, snapping his bones in half, making his skin red from the sheer velocity at which his blood is moving, knowing it’s vessels are going to burst at any moment.

Shigeru tries to suck in as much air as he can through his nose. When he tries to let it out through his mouth, it’s barely enough for him to be able to speak the one-word phrase.

“Sleep.”

He needs sleep.

Kentarou likes if he sleeps in his clothes, so that’s what he’ll do. It’s not much, but it makes Ken happy, and that makes Shigeru happy.

He runs a bath.

He quickly scrubs himself clean, because he’s never been good at taking his time, but that’s okay, because Kentarou can teach him.

He soaks for twenty minutes, just long enough for him to get comfortable without taking too long. He knows Kentarou gets restless if he’s kept waiting, and that ends up with him barging in like a behemoth that scoops him out of the tub still wet and dumps him unceremoniously on the bed, a towel draped over him so he can hurry and dry off.

He pulls on a plain white t-shirt that smells of Kentarou’s sweat, the shorts that have a pin sized hole near the bottom, and his thick black sweatshirt that feels so much like him he can imagine Kentarou is there with him.

_Why you only got shampoo that smells like fruit? Why don’t you got normal shit? It’s burnin’ my eyes just from openin’ the bottle._

“I never thought I’d have company who’d want a different scent. It’s normally just Oikawa and Sugawara, and they _love_ the luxury kind.”

_You should change that, the fancy shit is always expensive._

“I don’t care about money, Ken.”

_You should, you’re gonna end up needin’ it later in life. Speakin’ of fancy, what kinda lotion you use?_

“Just something my mom keeps sending me. Why, do you like it?”

_Smells good. Makes you all smooth. It’s nice._

He smiles and can feel his cheeks warming up. “Thanks Ken.”

_You done yet? I’m tryna go to bed, and I don’t want Kiki to step on my throat to wake me up if I’m still sleepin’ at ten._

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He opens his medicine cabinet, hastily pouring his pills into his hand, tossing them in his mouth and downing them with water.

 

When Shigeru crawls into bed, it’s warm. Kentarou’s wrapped around him in a sweet embrace, and he can finally close his eyes again.

 

* * *

 

Kiki thinks she is smart. Her mother and her siblings were smart too, but she _knew_ she was smart, which makes her even more smart. She is so smart that the first family thinks she is unsettling. It hurts her, the way the kids cried as she tried so very hard to stay with the only people who she’d ever known.

She was sad for a long, long time. A long time to her, but something called a ‘year’ to people. She doesn’t know what a year is, but she doesn’t think it’s nearly as long as it feels. Her new papa came to get her when the rain pounded on the roof, and the sounds had scared her enough to make her cry out. He’d been looking at the dogs, a few of them had strange looking faces, but they were nothing but nice, if a little loud at times. But he’d come over, crouching down to look inside her little cage. When she’d seen him, she thought he looked how she felt.

Trapped.

Alone.

Like he was missing something.

When he’d looked at her for the first time, he hadn’t _really_ been looking at her. Kiki doesn’t think he’d been looking at much of anything with the way his eyes were far, far away, searching for someone who wouldn’t show up.

She tried to ask if he needed help. If he was lonely and needed someone to be with him. She thinks papa likes how smart she is, because when they had stared at each other that day, he’d stopped looking in the distance, and had actually _seen_ her.

When he brought her home, she discovered that when he wasn’t giving her love and attention, he was still searching for that special something. It consumed him; when papa hadn’t been working at the desk or talking to the men with chocolate brown hair and silver hair, he’d been kept looking for it.

She hadn’t known what he was looking for until she’d found the worn piece of paper on the desk, the scent unfamiliar yet tinged with a little bit of papa on it’s sides. She’d pawed at it, but he’d rushed over immediately, telling her not to play with it, not to scratch it up or chew on it. “This is very important sweetie, you can’t play with it. Try this instead.”

She’d been given a mouse plushie, and she loved it, even to this day, but papa still had that paper, the look in his eyes even more pronounced whenever he’d held it.

So Kiki started trying to find the strange scent on the paper.

Getting out of the house hadn’t been hard- apparently some awful rats had used to live in the kitchen, as the cabinet under the sink had a hole connecting to the space between the walls. All she’d had to do was maneuver her way out the crevice the lead to the balcony, shimmy along the ledge, jump to the rafters of the coffee shop next door, and using the top of the dumpster behind around the back door, reach the ground. That was easy.

The hard part had been sorting through the thousands of scents to find the one that matched that piece of paper.

It was difficult. Extremely difficult.

So difficult that when she’d thought she’s smelled the correct one, she’d thought is was from one of the trash bags nearby, not the stranger with the dark eyes and commanding presence.

But she still had to check, for papa’s sake. Kiki had inched toward him, and he wasn’t rude and didn’t shove her aside as so many others had in the past when they saw her wandering around. He’d pet her, scratched under her chin and in the space behind her ears, and picked her up so she didn’t have to be by herself. He’d taken her collar off, read something, and he’d started moving.

First he’d gone into a store, which she did _not_ like given the sharp stink of whatever liquid was spread throughout it, but then he’d started walking in the direction of home. He’d been stared at, but he hadn’t cared. He kept her in his pocket, and he pat her head whenever someone got too close.

Kiki understood why papa liked him. A pleasant scent for a pleasant person. Granted, he seemed to have gotten mad when the man with the pungent smell had tried to talk to him, but papa hadn’t liked him either.

They fought that night. Papa and the man had fought, and there was crying and yelling and Kiki had thought that, for some reason, they needed to. And they did. That night, papa and been angry, the man had been rude, and she had stayed in her tower like she normally did when papa had company. But the next morning, it’s smiling and joking and the stranger leaves for a while.

She became used to his visits. He never stayed for more than a little while, never enough for a day to pass, but papa seemed happier. He didn’t take out the paper anymore, and the far-off look in his eyes all but disappeared. But papa still got upset whenever he left. Sometimes he cried, sometimes he screamed into a pillow and flailed for a while.

She decided to find out where he lived.

When the man left for the fifth or sixth time, Kiki followed him. It was nighttime, which was usually the case when he left papa, and he lives much farther than she’s used to walking. It made her uneasy, and she hadn’t liked being so far from papa. The neighborhood he lived didn’t suit him, at least she hadn’t thought so. It’s smelled foul and sounded crude and it was so much dirtier than she was used to, so she sped up when she saw him enter a building. The lights didn’t work, so she hadn’t had to worry about being seen as she glided between his feet. He didn’t notice when she’d crept into the room that was filled with his scent, and he hadn’t noticed when she slept on the mattress under a thin piece of cloth that could hardly be considered a blanket.

A woman came in later, and she’d fumbled around with something less than five inches from where Kiki had been, so she hadn’t moved. The woman smelled toxic.

She’d wanted to go home. She’d waited for the man to come back, and when he had, she’d asked him about what he would do next.

What was he going to do now that she was here?

He’d taken her home, and she’d never been so glad to be back, because she’d had to hold her bladder for a terribly long time. She’d tried to go, but the room smelled too much like the man, and she felt that if she _had_ gone, she’d have defiled it in some way.

Papa had worn a dress. It was nice.

But no matter how nice it was, it had felt off.

Even when the man she’d learned was named Ken had stayed for a longer time than usual and had spent significantly more time with her and papa to make them happy, it wasn’t right. When he’d been helping papa make chicken that he let her taste and proceeded to give her a small bowl “because she deserves it”. Even when papa smiled more and laughed more and didn’t take nearly as many of those pills from the cabinet, it wasn’t right.

Kiki had to investigate, figure out why it hadn’t been alright. So she’d tried to go back to Ken’s house, and although the long trip and the neighborhood had scared her, she’d had to look. For what, she hadn’t known, but she went anyway. She hadn’t remembered the way correctly, so she’d wound up outside an unfamiliar door and a building that was, at the very least, cleaner than Ken’s. It hadn’t smelled bad, just unfamiliar.

She’d gotten lost. When Ken had come to take her home, she almost cried.

She hadn’t had time to.

It was the foul smelling woman with the face filled with loathing and utter distaste that had done it. She’d thrown something that smacked so hard against him that she herself flinched, and when her eyes locked in her, Kiki had to hold back a hiss out of fear of retaliation.

She’d never run so fast in her life. She hadn’t cared who’d seen her or if something was going to hit her, she just had to leave.

It was when she’d shakily made her way into the house that she began to realize what had been wrong.

It was when papa had sobbed uncontrollably for hours on end when Ken hadn’t come for a long, long time that she’d become increasingly unsettled by his random bouts of silence.

It was when papa hadn’t come out of his room to feed her that day that she’d decided to leave the house again.

It was when the brown haired man she recognized as papa’s friend picked her up that she’d felt empty inside.

It was when that man had used a spare key (“for emergencies only” papa had said when he’d been given it to him) to take her home that he’d been found.

It was when too many people had come into papa’s home, had removed his stuff and talked stiffly, had put her in a cage to ship her to a place she didn’t know, that she had cried for papa.

It’s the day after people have openly mourned and grieved with unmasked sorrow, after they’d continually asked “why?” only to be met with no answer, after she’d been given to the brown haired man, after so much time by herself that she’d become fearful that he'd leave her and she'd taken to following him around his house (that she supposes it hers now too) that she realizes it.

Kiki realizes the day after papa had been put to rest that maybe, just maybe, she was _too_ smart. That her being smart had caused all of this.

On this day, Kiki decides to not sneak out anymore. She decides to act like any other cat. She obeys, she purrs, she eats, she sleeps, she plays with toys when the brown haired man is around.

  
She does not think. Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. That was fucked up. (tl;dr at the bottom)
> 
> You're probably wondering what the fuck just happened. Simply put, Kentarou died because he loved Shigeru with all his heart, and his mother is a violent homophobe who was just waiting for him to slip up (remember that movement behind the curtain in the club? guess who was eavesdropping). As for Shigeru... he died because he was obsessed. His constant need for validation, the mindset that'd been drilled into him throughout his life is what created that need for something to draw people's attention for a little while, just so he could have some breathing room or an excuse for why he wasn't perfect. He needed Kentarou to act as a distraction, as a scapegoat of sorts, so if he messed up, he could say it was because of Kentarou. He wasn't as good as Kentarou, so even if he tried his hardest, it wouldn't matter. He wanted to be able to tell himself that he didn't have to be the best because Ken was, that it was okay to be himself if Ken was around, that he wasn't as perfect as Ken. When Ken wasn't there anymore, Shigeru decided to pretend he was. He told himself that he was there, and took too many sleeping pills, thinking he was waiting for him, business as usual.
> 
> I honestly don't even know if, in this story, Shigeru really loved Kentarou.
> 
> One thing is obvious: Shigeru's feelings towards Kentarou are NOT HEALTHY.
> 
> It's okay to rely on people to tell you that you don't have to impress everyone, but it's NOT okay to rely on them to be an excuse for you not to try at all. It's NOT okay to rely on them for reasons that put so much pressure on them that, if they're gone, even for a little while, you feel like you can't function (missing someone is one thing, being dependent is another). It's NOT okay to want to dominate someone's life, to want to keep them to yourself and monopolize them. It's NOT okay to try to use their poor living situation or anything they're going through as an excuse to keep them with you at all times. It's NOT okay to take drastic steps to be with someone just because they aren't there anymore, no matter how much you care about them (or in Shigeru's case, think you care, because he isn't even sure himself).
> 
> Kiki is supposed to be representative of anyone trying to help someone while unknowingly making things much much worse (*cough cough* we all know someone who can fit into that role, so don't pretend it doesn't apply to you *cough cough*). She picked up on Shigeru's need, using the fact he still had Kentarou's confession letter as proof of how bent he was on being with him. She was trying to help, and she made a mistake, but it's not her responsibility, so she isn't completely in the wrong.
> 
> She shouldn't HAVE to help Shigeru. He shouldn't HAVE to have someone that made him feel less than what he was because he wanted to be "normal". He should've just accepted the way he was, that other people wouldn't always like him or his choices, and that he wouldn't always be the best and that it didn't matter.
> 
> But he couldn't, and that was his downfall.
> 
> Oh, and the reason I made Ken live a rough life and Shigeru live a good one is because I thought it would help the idea for it (if that makes sense). Ken lived a rough life but loved Shigeru honestly, and Shigeru lived a good life but wanted to use Kentarou for selfish reasons. Maybe, if they'd had more time, the relationship could've worked, but they just didn't have that time. But even if they did have the time, it might not have worked out anyway. Sometimes things get better, sometimes they get better for a little and slap you ten times harder, and sometimes things just go downhill from day one.
> 
>  
> 
> tl;dr: Kentarou lived in a bad neighborhood but loved Shigeru and Shigeru lived in a good neighborhood but harbored an unhealthy obsession with Kentarou. Kiki is just a smart cat that tried to help, but she made a mistake that resulted in Kentarou's death, and in turn, Shigeru's as well.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gangstacrowtwit) because im a whore for followers


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